


I Do

by beezyland



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Friendship, One Shot Collection, Romance, friends with benefits to just friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beezyland/pseuds/beezyland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lorna Morello, whose self-deception is as terrifying as her upbeat personality, meets Nicky Nichols, a wisecracking recovering heroin addict, in a women’s correctional facility. Friendly conversations, mixed signals, unhealthy obsessions and surprising perceptions of love. </p><p>A Nicky/Lorna One Shot Collection </p><p>#1 Valentine's Day Aftermath<br/>#2 Nicky Nichols Gets a Dog<br/>#3 Post-Prison Domesticity and Drama</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuck Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> After 02x06 "You Also Have a Pizza"

“Fuck cookies, man.” 

The Valentine’s celebration rages on as Nicky stumbles past all the bodies in beige and pushes her way into the bathroom. She steadies herself with a hand against the ugly ass tile wall when she feels the sickness rise up. Nicky holds her breath and breathes a sigh as the wave of nausea passes. She’s about to return to the festivities when she hears someone really throw up and has to brace herself when it triggers a second wave.

“Boo, if that’s you _literally_ tossing your cookies, that is clearly means of disqualification!” Nicky shouts. Her only reply is more hideous vomiting sounds. “Jesus Christ!”

“Sorry!”

Nicky blinks a couple times because she knows that voice. She’s made that voice pant out her name between “fuck” and “Oh God.”

“Morello?”

She’s answered with a sob. Yup, that’s gotta be Lorna. Nicky takes a breath and a moment to gather herself before she stumbles over to the bathroom stalls, just to pause yet again.

“Kid,” Nicky calls out. “I’m gonna come in there, but you gotta flush first.”

The sound of the toilet immediately follows and Nicky pushes past the stall door to find Lorna crumbled on the bathroom floor, paler than usual and with tear tracks down her cheeks. Nicky’s right about to ask if she’s okay, but her stomach turns at the deep red of Lorna’s lipstick, a dead ringer for the icing on some of the cookies Nicky thoughtlessly devoured. Seriously, fuck cookies.

After the feeling subsides yet again, Nicky bends over to feel Lorna’s forehead, thinking that maybe it’s a bug going around, but the dark-haired inmate just shakes her head and wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of the gray sweater tied around her waist.

“No, no, no, I’m fine,” Lorna says. “Just got a little carried away with the…mac and cheese. Then I always cry during and after I puke.”

Lorna leans back against the stall partition and squeezes her eyes tight, taking one of those supposedly cleansing yoga breaths Jones always goes on and on about. If Nicky were less on the verge of puking herself, she’d probably make some kind of joke or tease her. _Soft eyes, Morello. Soft eyes_. But alas, so much of her energy is going into not barfing. So much so that Nicky disregards how absolutely filthy the floor is and slides down next to Lorna.

“You don’t look so hot neither,” Lorna observes.

Nicky goes for a dramatic groan and even that’s weak at best. “You know, I’m always telling you how hot you are. Would it kill you to return the favor? Jesus Christ, lie to me even.”

Lorna smiles despite how miserable she looks and tilts her head towards her fellow inmate. “You don’t need me to tell you how hot you are, Nichols. You got a whole book of that.”

She groans again. “Don’t remind me. That’s the whole reason I ended up here, nauseous and nearly dead on this filthy ass floor.”

“Sick of sex?”

Nicky laughs at the very idea. Sure. As if that’s even possible.

“Things ended in a tie and somehow went from a sex competition to a cookie eating contest in like a blurry five seconds.”

“That’s what that was? _An eating contest with Boo_?”

Lorna, the sweetheart, is sure to annunciate every syllable of the last few words just to drive the message home that it was an insanely dumb idea. Nicky nods her head hard and the sounds she makes are ones of pure regret.

“Fuck cookies,” Nicky spits. It’s becoming something of a mantra. “While we’re at it, fuck Valentine’s too.”

“Yeah,” Lorna agrees quietly. “Fuck Valentine’s Day.”

Nicky sits up and lets her narrowed eyes scan over her former friend with benefits, who’s more of just a friend, like a _real_ friend these days. She thinks back to last February and recalls a certain driver who was over the moon with her romantic notions and wedding plans. Now that Nicky really takes a moment to think about it, she’s barely heard a word out of Lorna all day, which is scary rare alone.

Even when Chapman asked her about love, Lorna just had that teary look in her eyes and that too wide, forced smile and laughed that everyone knows she’s got a lot to say about love. Instead of going into detail like she normally would, Lorna made some excuse to get away. It didn’t seemed strange at the time, but Nicky was also preoccupied, searching for the next set of points in her little sex game. Stupid.

“Christopher and I aren’t together.”

Lorna doesn’t look at Nicky as she lets the confession roll off her red lips, just stares off into space, and so Nicky lets herself roll her eyes. Jesus Christ, they really can’t go one conversation without mentioning the prick. Nicky kinda figured they weren’t together anymore when she found Lorna sobbing over the guy and his wedding announcement with his slutty new bride in the newspaper and—

 _Fuck_.

The announcement had said _February 14_. That’s today.

“Shit, kid, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Nicky doesn’t hesitate as she extends her arm and rubs her hand over Lorna’s shoulder and up and down her arm. Comforting the girl even in the least sexual of ways has become second nature.

“No, Nicky, don’t feel sorry for me please. Fuck him for ruinin’ today for me.” Lorna sniffles and swipes at her eyes. “We aren’t together and now I can admit it to myself and out loud…well, at least out loud to you.” Lorna takes another deep breath and nods, suddenly looking so determined. “Believe it or not, Crazy Eyes helped me see all this.”

“Ah, so that explains why I saw you two getting cozy.”

Nicky lifts her eyebrows suggestively and Lorna snorts, something resembling laughter, and playfully nudges Nicky with her elbow. “She’s not all bad… Her sniffin’ my hair was a little odd, but that’s when the mac and cheese came back to bite me in the ass.”

“See, karma,” Nicky says teasingly. “Stop saying shit about the Spanish girls, who, y’know, cook the food. Quit comparing them to West Side Story and shit.”

Lorna sighs wistfully. “I used to think love was a lot like West Side Story, y’know…” Nicky doesn’t really know and expects Lorna to continue, but instead, she looks over at Nicky with curious eyes. “What about you? Did Chapman interview you on what love’s like?”

“I told her," Nicky lies. Before Chapman could even get the question out, Nicky told her to fuck off and emptied that entire bag of Skittles from Red into her mouth. "Fiona Apple in the Criminal video.”

Lorna blinks a few times. “Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even then.”

Fucking straight girls. And of course this fucking straight girl makes Nicky Nichols smile.

Lorna leans back and just looks at Nicky in a way that feels inviting and so familiar like before when they’d sneak off to the chapel for hours on end. Nicky’s eyes trail down and back up Lorna’s ever-enticing body, knowing what’s hidden beneath the cotton and khaki. The flicker of her eyes has become something of a bad habit Nicky never wants to break. 

Before Nicky can calculate her next move or even debate if there is a next move to make, she’s hit with the worst wave of nausea yet and this time, she’s lurching towards the toilet and there it is. Retched sounds follow. Then, when Nicky sees the contents of her stomach emptied into the metal bowl, what was at one time colorfully frosted cookies, she gags and the regurgitation party continues.

“There, there, Nichols,” Lorna says soothingly. She’s there by Nicky’s side, holding back her wild hair and rubbing comforting patterns over her back. “Let it all out. I always feel better after the puking and the crying. You feel better, don’t ya?”

“Fuck cookies!” Nicky moans into the toilet.

When she finally thinks it’s over and she has nothing left to give, Nicky flushes the toilet and sits back against the stall door. She wipes at her mouth with her sleeve and makes a valiant attempt to breathe normally.

Lorna sits next to her, closer this time, and laughs. “We’re disgusting.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.” Nicky chuckles and pushes her fingers through her hair. “Hey, Happy Fucking Valentine’s Day, Morello.”

“Happy Fucking Valentine’s Day to you too.”

Lorna leans just a little more and her head meets Nicky’s shoulder. And they just stay like that. All they smell and all they taste and all they touch is fucking gross, but neither can bring themselves to move. They’re missing what might be the last Litchfield sponsored and approved function the inmates might be allowed for the next few months, but pin the penis on the man and food that easily exceeds their daily calorie count couldn’t be further from their minds.

That’s when Nicky’s dumbstruck by a particularly alarming thought.

Maybe love is like sitting on a foul fucking bathroom floor and throwing up a little, but smiling and laughing because you aren’t alone and not only that, but the person you’re with makes you feel less lonely.

Maybe or maybe not. Either way, Nicky finds herself leaning back towards Morello.


	2. Nicky Gets a Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Xxx
> 
> Prompt: “Nicky’s last day in prison…her trying to live her life but everything feels so weird because it’s not prison…”

Nicky really didn’t want some dumb sendoff party where they put lame paper decorations on the walls or whatever, but refusing Red just doesn’t happen. 

So she sucks it up and puts on a smile and returns the hugs and nods at the encouraging words like a champ. She pals around with Alex, who could strangle her with jealousy, especially since Piper kissed Litchfield goodbye forever ago. Nicky respects Red’s strong, seemingly standoffish front and absorbs the soft way Red squeezes her shoulder. The small gesture says everything Nicky already knows. She scoffs at the jokes Boo attempts to make and tries not to acknowledge the way Jones and Sister are looking at her because, fuck, what are they trying to do? Conspire against her, start a betting pool to see who would be the one to make Nicky Nichols fucking cry?

There’s one face missing from the common room, one face that Nicky should be looking at, memorizing, _touching_ because once she’s released into the wild there will be none of that. Nicky slips out of the room, mumbling something about needing to take a leak, and goes out in search of her girl. It really shouldn’t be surprising that she finds Lorna Morello sitting on the steps, _their steps_ , in the dark.

(It’s dark because there’s a burnt out bulb above them that no one bothered to replace because there’s no Chapman to annoy the staff into action. Seriously, fuck this place.)

“Hey, what’s with the disappearing act?” Nicky sits next to Lorna and slides up to her side. “They’re singing hymns with my name in ‘em.”

Nicky brushes her thumb over Lorna’s cheek and presses a kiss there after seeing how bad the girl is at hiding her sadness. Nicky has always felt like a fucking idiot acting like one of those cutesy couples, but there’s something about Lorna Morello that makes her want that, want to go on cheesy dates to the movies and want stupid barefoot walks on the beach and want to fucking share cans of Diet Coke, no straw required, just both their lips on one aluminum rim.

“Hymns, huh? Sounds fun.” Lorna smiles weakly. “I just needed a minute…”

Nicky nods and moves her hand onto Lorna’s thigh. When she notices, _feels it_ , Lorna tugs Nicky’s hand into hers and threads their fingers together.

“Nichols, I know we don’t talk about things…about us. We never _defined_ things like we maybe should have a long time ago… What I’m tryin’a say is you’re gonna be out in the real world and that’s _so_ amazing and I’m _so_ happy for you, but…”

“Lorna, just don’t, alright? C’mon, not on my last night.”

“Nicky, listen.” Lorna gives her hand a pull, demanding her attention. That little bit of aggression concealed beneath her pretty, unthreatening exterior has always been something of a turn-on for Nicky. “I know you’ve got needs and tendencies—”

“Jesus Christ, Lorna—”

“If it ever comes down to sex or drugs I’m tellin’ you to choose sex,” Lorna says firmly. Nicky sits there with her mouth hanging open, at a complete loss. This girl has a way of doing this to her a lot. Lorna tries to smile and fails miserably. “Just make sure she’s not hotter than me, okay?”

“Hotter than you? Not possible.” Nicky chuckles and draws her closer. “What about instead of sex or drugs I just choose food?”

Lorna laughs and digs her fingers into the creases in Nicky’s cheap gray sweater that she won’t have to see ever again in a matter of hours. Nicky nuzzles into Lorna’s hair, drinking in her scent and the feel of her like water. Nicky slides her arm around Lorna’s waist and holds on tight, not caring who might walk by and see.

“I’m not gonna ask you to wait for me,” Lorna says quietly. “That’s stupid and selfish…”

Nicky groans and turns her eyes up to the ceiling. There’s a reason they never addressed this shit head on. They both suck at assessing and discussing the reality of a situation. They both lie to themselves too much. Well, Nicky’s sick of it. She’s sick of her own vices.

“Well, I am asking you to wait for me,” Nicky says strongly, gripping Lorna’s hand tight in hers. “Maybe it is stupid and selfish, but it’s what I want. _I want you, Lorna_. So if you ever need some comforting in here, call me, alright? Not like Boo or someone because if you do, well, that’s another level of stooping.”

“Nicky…”

“What? That isn’t totally implausible! She doesn’t have a wife right now and you’re soon to be without a me and she is the equivalent of a lezzy Jabba the Hutt, but we did tie in that sexpetitio—”

“Nichols, shut up already!” Lorna lets that accent of hers shine as she tugs on the collar of Nicky’s sweater and that’s enough to get the former junkie licking her lips and looking her up and down. “What do you say about one last trip to the chapel for ol’ time sake?”

Nicky smirks with a smug little shoulder roll and Lorna gives her a playful shove as she gets to her feet. Nicky nearly sprints to catch up, hangs her arm around Lorna’s shoulders and is sure to let her fingers subtly graze her left tit that’s way too well hidden. Fucking prison clothes. Lorna presses her face into Nicky’s neck and breathes deeply, and, yeah, Litchfield is getting these clothes back with bright red lipstick stains all over them.

 

 

* 

 

 

She’s robbed. 

Nicky doesn’t get the chance to stop and feel out that beautiful moment of silence and self after taking your first few steps out of Litchfield. She’s robbed of that reflection and self-actualization because the first thing she sees outside the front doors is Piper Chapman with a fucking gift basket in her arms. A gift basket that’s probably filled with soap and shit Piper made herself and it’s all too hilarious for Nicky to not double over with laughter.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Piper says dryly.

“Got a present for me there, Chapman?”

“I’m ready to reconsider, actually.”

“C’mere.” Nicky throws an arm around Piper in a hug, smashing the dumb gift basket between them, making the cellophane it’s wrapped in squeal loudly. They share a laugh, but it quickly dies when Nicky sees the expensive car parked just behind them and a foreign asshole behind the wheel and an even bigger asshole in expensive heels getting out of the passenger seat.

“Nicole.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nicky asks venomously. She walks up to her mother with hands balled into fists while Piper shrinks off to the side, hugging the gift basket to her chest.

“You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you? You look…healthy.”

“Thanks,” Nicky says spitefully. She clenches her jaw and refuses to refer to this woman as her mom. Nicky has a real mom, one who protects her and smacks her when she’s being an outspoken, hurtful asshole, who physically held her through her withdrawals, not throw her into a clinic where she spent weeks strapped down to a cot.

“You’ve done your time and I hope you can finally see the error of your ways and own up to it.”

Nicky deadpans. “Sure.”

A moment of tense silence follows as the Nichols women share a deadly stare. Meanwhile, Piper stands off to the side, still clutching that gift basket that crinkles every time a breeze passes by. Damn that fucking cellophane.

“Well,” Mrs. Nichols says, reaching into her excessively expensive purse. “You can have the loft in SoHo. No one’s even been there in years. And I put money in your account, but this is _the_ last time.”

“Why?” Nicky asks skeptically. “I don’t need your charity.”

The other woman laughs. “Honey, even I wouldn’t push a person out of an airplane over the Arctic Ocean without a parachute.” She holds out a set of keys and a plastic charge card in one hand. “But if I get one more call from the hospital in the middle of the night—”

“I’ll be sure to change my emergency contact info,” Nicky says sharply.

Mrs. Nichols presses her mouth into a thin line as her obligatory speech dies on her lips. Nicky stands tall and strong, looking the woman who abandoned her too many times right in the eye. Piper squirms as she watches, resisting the urge to cheer.

“I really mean it, Nicole,” Mrs. Nichols says softly. “You look healthy.”

Nicky doesn’t respond, just takes the keys and credit card, and the hard look on her face remains unwavering. They don’t speak any more. They don’t hug. They don’t touch at all. Mrs. Nichols just nods when the car horn beeps impatiently and walks away from Nicky like she’s done so many times in the past.

“I’m Piper, by the way! Lovely to meet you!”

Nicky shakes away all the spite and bitterness and grins at her blonde friend. Piper gives her a gentle smile in return, her way of saying _I’m proud of you._

“I’m beginning to see what you meant about some shit smelling worst than others.”

“About time, princess.” Nicky looks down at the keys and credit card in her hand as she heads to the nearest trashcan, but Piper quickly reaches out and grabs her arm.

“This is an emotional experience,” Piper says calmly. “It’s okay to be emotional, but don’t be stupid. That woman handed you a startup on a silver platter. You can either blow it to spite her or use it to prove her wrong.”

Nicky considers this for a moment and slides both the keys and the credit card into the pocket of her sweater. “You know, blondie, when you first walked in there—”

All of a sudden, mid-sentence, mid-thought, it’s like all the air is sucked out of Nicky’s lungs. The way she referred to Litchfield—in _there_ , not _here_ —it’s a lot. Piper just smiles and pats her back.

“Yeah, that takes some getting use to,” Piper says. “You were saying?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Chapman.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me now, Nichols,” Piper says fondly. “Let’s go get burgers and watch the Fiona Apple Criminal video in your new swanky SoHo apartment.”

Piper links her arm through Nicky’s and they start walking toward Piper’s Prius.

(Of course Piper Chapman drives a fucking Prius.)

“Seriously though, that gift basket is for me, right?”

Piper shoves the dumb gift basket into Nicky’s awaiting arms. Just before she gets into the little eco-friendly car, Nicky takes a moment to look at the godforsaken building that took up five years of her life. She takes a breath of freedom before she gets into the car and they drive away.

 

 

*

 

 

Life on the outside is weird. 

Sleeping in the dark is weird. Sleeping on a bed and not being able to feel the springs digging into your spine and with more than one pillow is weird. Walking around without having to worry about COs creeping on you is weird. Eating whatever whenever is weird. Having a variety of clothes and, fuck yeah, skirts is weird. It’s all just fucking weird and sometimes it’s _too_ weird, overwhelmingly weird, so much so that Nicky spends hours sits in a mostly dark, but not quite corner with her knees drawn up, just at a loss for what she should be doing.

Not only is it weird, but it’s so fucking lonely, Nicky swears her chest physically tightens at the thought of how all she ever wanted in Litchfield was a little fucking privacy and now she has all the privacy she wants and how empty it all is. The food was not at all good, but she misses Gina and Norma’s faces on the other side of the line, serving it up, and Red’s love and effort behind every bite. She misses clowning around with Vause, scripting stupid, bad porno dialogue on the fly in the laundry room. And she misses Lorna. She fucking misses Lorna. Their conversations that could either be scary intimate or scary explosive, every look, every laugh, every twisted piece of that sweet, beautiful girl is everything that’s missing from Nicky’s life.

The thing is Nicky barely had a life outside of Litchfield. She had drugs, people she bought drugs from, people she did drugs with and money to burn. She knows reaching out to people she use to know is a bad idea especially if she wants to keep her probation officer off her ass and those random drug screenings aren’t exactly easy to fake. Employment isn’t one of her probation requirements and she has enough money that if she budgets she won’t have to worry about a job for a while.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Red says through the phone. Nicky nearly sheds a tear just at the sound of that low, sharp Russian accent.

“It’s me, ma. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“The first week is always the hardest. It will be easier as the days go by. If you need me to spell it out, Little Girl Big Mouth, don’t purposefully get your ass thrown back in here.”

Nicky laughs like the thought hasn’t crossed her mind even if it’s the last thing she thinks about before going to sleep and the first thing she thinks of when she wakes. Other than Lorna and heroin, of course.

“You think I’m that dumb?” Nicky asks. When Red doesn’t reply, Nicky laughs again. “No, I won’t. You’d probably have me shanked before I even get my khakis.”

“Eh, more like make you sweat, have the girls ice you out, Lorna included.”

Nicky frowns at the sudden reminder of how long it’s been since she’s seen all of them face-to-face, Lorna included.

“Hey ma, how is she?”

“Lorna is Lorna. Good. Stable. Keeps in step, keeps busy, still talks too fucking much. Except now all she talks about is you. And we all thought she talked too much about the fucking wedding. Jesus Christ.”

Nicky smirks. Sounds like her girl.

“I miss her,” Nicky says quietly. “I miss you too, Red. I even miss Boo, but don’t fucking tell her that!”

Red laughs gently. “Oh, my daughter. It might not feel like it right this second, but you are better off out there than you ever were in here. And don’t forget I’d smack you for even considering landing yourself back in here.”

“Duly noted.”

Suddenly, Nicky hears repeated thumping noises and muffled shouting that makes her chuckle.

“Looks like Chapman’s got herself stuck in the bathroom _again_.”

God bless Piper Chapman. She’s been something of a lifeline for Nicky. Despite the mess that is their personal lives, Piper and Polly did open their own little shop of artisanal bath products and handmade cosmetics. Piper likes to man the storefront and Nicky swings by for lunch a couple times a week for the sake of actual human interaction.

Nicky walks through her beautiful two-bedroom corner apartment with her phone pressed to her ear and goes to rescue Piper. The apartment has these amazing double glazed arched windows that allow for tons of natural light, a soaring ceiling with hen beams and original cast-iron columns. She has to jiggle the handle as Piper pulls on it from the other side and as they struggle and argue over it Red just laughs from the other side of the receiver.

“You and Chapman loose on the outside world!” Red laughs hysterically. “I’ve never felt more safe in prison!”

“I love you too, mommy.”

Nicky’s voice drips sarcasm, but she really does fucking mean that and she trusts Red knows.

 

 

*

 

 

A drug is a drug is a drug. 

So as much as Nicky really fucking wants a beer, she knows herself and she knows liquor and heroin have always gone hand-in-hand for her. Once she’s even in a slightly altered state of mind she’s going to want her drug of choice. All she wants is to feel somewhat okay after weeks of feeling shitty and alone.

Nicky stands outside a pub down the street from her building with her hands in her pockets, staring at the neon sign in the window. Just one beer wouldn’t hurt, right? Just one. Nicky steps toward the door, reaches out for the handle, when she hears a squeal and cruel laughter coming from the alleyway. Nicky retracts her hand and goes to investigate.

Between the dumpster and piles of trash, Nicky sees a couple of boys who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen taking turns kicking what looks like a muddy ragdoll except ragdolls don’t whimper and squeal with each blow. Nicky doesn’t even think twice before marching over, grabbing one of the boys by the shoulders and throwing him to the ground.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You little shit!” Nicky shouts and her eyes go wide and combined with her wild hair she must look like a crazy person because the boys don’t even need to exchange looks. They’re in total synchronized agreement that they need to get the fuck out of there.

Once the little bastards take off on their bikes, Nicky looks to their victim—a tiny, emaciated dog whose whirly black and white fur is matted with dirt and grime. The little dog with floppy ears and only one eye shrinks away, trembling.

“Fuck man, kids are assholes.” Nicky bends over and holds a hand out to the dog who inches closer, but still looks so terrified. “Hey little guy.” Nicky slowly reaches into the pocket of her coat and pulls out her half-eaten bagel from earlier in the day. “You like bagels?”

She tears off a piece of her bagel and holds it out to the dog. After a moment of careful calculation driven by animal instinct, the dog takes the bit of bagel, chews slowly and quickly seeks out more. Nicky smiles triumphantly and breaks off another piece for the dog.

“Good boy, Bagel Dog. Yeah, don’t worry. I bet you survived worse.”

After feeding most of the bagel to her new pal, he starts to open up, tail wagging, jumping up onto Nicky’s knee with tiny, filthy paws. When Nicky straightens up and starts to walk away, Bagel Dog hobbles after her, mirroring her every move. When she stops, he stops and sits at her feet, looking up at the former junkie with adoration in his one good eye.

“I don’t know about this, man,” Nicky says. “You’re lookin’ at the wrong person. How am I supposed to take care of a dog?” He stares up at her, tilts his little head and Nicky knows she’s done for. “But only an asshole would leave you like this…”

Nicky reaches out for the little dog and lifts him up with one arm, surprised and kind of digging it when Bagel Dog nuzzles against her. Nicky gently takes hold of the tag attached to his tattered collar, scans over the engraved info—no address, just a name—and scoffs.

“Who the fuck names a dog Beowulf? Fuck that, I can do better.”

With one quick, gentle movement of her fingers, Nicky frees Bagel Dog from the collar and tosses it into the nearby dumpster.

“Okay, but we’re gonna have to have some ground rules, buddy,” Nicky says as she starts walking down the street, completely forgetting about the pub. “Limit the barking and the marking your territory, alright? Scratching stuff, chewing stuff up, whining in the middle of the night—forget all of that. We’ll be cool as long as we’re cool, got it?”

Nicky walks into the nearest bodega, buys a bottle of water for Bagel Dog and a bottle of water for herself.

 

 

 *

 

 

Nicky runs into Target on a mission to buy dog food. She might be able to live off of coffee alone, but a dog certainly can’t. She peruses the aisles a bit and makes the mistake of cutting through the toy section. 

A box of Scrabble catches her eye. It’s in a box wrapped in plastic, mint condition, and all the pieces are probably made out of wood and not pieces of cardboard with letters written on in Sharpie. And the moment is too real, too much, too soon. Nicky falls to her knees, hyperventilating. It might just be her imagination or someone might really be asking if she’s okay and Nicky just violently thrashes as she climbs to her feet and makes a break for the exit.

Things are nicer and shinier in the outside world, but a constant reminder of what she once had and no longer does.

 

 

*

 

 

“I think there’s something you should know about me…” 

Nicky sits crossed-legged on the sofa in her living room with a box of pizza open on the coffee table and a piece of crust hanging out of her mouth. She takes a deep breath and lets it go, very serious, both like and unlike Nicky.

“I’m just gonna come out and say it…” Nicky rubs her hands together. “I’m a lesbian. I like pussy—not of the feline variety, don’t worry—I like human pussy. Too much, some would say, but fuck them, there is no such thing. Are you cool with that? You kind of have no choice because you’re just sort of a cute freeloader, but I want us to be open with each other and I wasn’t sure how you felt about the gays after that fucking entitled Dachshund tried to stick his dick in you at the park and you basically threatened to tear his face off. So we cool?”

Nicky looks right at her companion and Bagel Dog stares back with a piece of pizza crust hanging out of his mouth and his tail wagging wildly. He’s so much stronger and brighter than he was when Nicky first rescued him. She can’t explain it, but the loft feels brighter and warmer with the sound of Bagel Dog’s nails clacking against the oak floor like rain hitting the roof of the Litchfield greenhouse and the sound of his breathing as he sleeps right beside her in bed, reminiscent of Norma’s quiet snores at night.

“Alright, good talk.” Nicky reaches over and scratches the dog behind his ear and he immediately rolls onto his back, beckoning for a belly rub. “We’ll go out for a walk in a bit, grab some bagels. You’d like that, huh? Ya little bagel slut.”

Her cell phone buzzes and she anxiously feels around for it.

“An inmate from Litchfield Federal Prison is attempting to contact you. To accept the call, please press one…”

Nicky accepts the call with a click.

“Nicky, Red says you have to feed Bagel Dog actual dog food,” Lorna says firmly. Nicky leans back against the arm of the couch and smiles. Hearing Lorna say _dog_ in her accent makes Nicky grin like a fucking idiot.

“Hey Morello, whatcha wearing?”

“I’m serious, Nicky! Red told me to tell you like three times just this morning. She says taking care of another living creature is a privilege and a responsibility and feeding the poor guy appropriate food is apart of that.”

“Jeez, I’m not totally irresponsible, y’know? I Googled what dogs can and can’t eat. I wrote it out and taped it to the fridge. Jesus, Red’s still trying to mother me even when I’m out here and she’s in there.” Nicky tries to sound annoyed, but the smile on her face is undeniable. “So, khaki or cotton?”

“Nope, no talking about my granny panties till you start acting like a responsible pet owner,” Lorna scolds her. “So does your new man got a name yet or is he still Bagel Dog?”

“Bagel Dog just suits him! I was also thinking Taco or Pizza Crust or Pepperoni because he likes all that too.”

“If you give him a food name you’re gonna be hungry _all the time_.”

“Point taken,” Nicky says, continuing to stare at her new friend who’s cuddling into her side and resting his muzzle on her stomach. “What do you think of Lil’ Jon Junior? Or Chaplin. Or Buster. _Bae_ ster. Wait till you hear the fucking slang these kids got circulating out here.”

“I like Buster.”

“Yeah?” Nicky can feel her cheeks start to ache from how hard she’s smiling. “Hey, Buster.” The dog’s big brown eye has been on her the entire time and his ears perk when she acknowledges him. Jesus, Nicky feels herself falling in love with the attention-starved little mutt. “Alright, Buster it is.”

“Alright,” Lorna says. “Take care of him. You’re basically his Red now.”

Nicky nods, kind of likes the sound of that.

“Okay, fine.” Nicky groans like she’s preparing to wave a white flag and surrender in battle. “I bet what he’s eating now is way tastier, but since you asked so nicely, Morello, I’ll start feeding Buster actual dog food. The things I do for the kids I love.”

There’s a pause on both sides of the line when they realize they’ve never actually said that. _I love you_. It’s there in their lingering looks and the way they touch, but neither has actually said it. This is as close as they’ve ever gotten.

“I’m wearing grays,” Lorna says. “Laundry day so no bra. No panties.”

Her voice was, fuck, such a nice voice, usually so melodic, but now so rough, _raw_. All of Lorna’s intensity is aimed at Nicky who makes a soft noise beneath her breath. She swears she can get off from that alone.

“Fuck yeah,” Nicky says, and burrows a little deeper into the couch cushions. “Fuck, baby, I want under that. _In you._ I wanna put my face between your legs.”

“Nicky!”

“Talk to me, Morello,” she whines. “You taste fucking good, so, so good.”

“Nicky Nichols, this is not fair!” Lorna squeaks. She stops for a second, then lowers her voice. “You don’t got a CO standing three feet away from you, do you?”

“What? Just whisper. Plus, it’s not like you’re gonna pop a tent! That’s like, one of the best things about the female sex organs. You can picture yourself doing filthy shit with your hot girlfriend in a crowded room and no one ever has to know.”

Lorna giggles and Nicky imagines her squeezing her eyes shut as the corners of her lips separate in the sweetest smile. “I miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss you too, kid.”

 

 

*

 

 

December comes quicker than expected.

Piper invites herself in because she has her own key and with canvas totes full of organic groceries and a bag of dog food in her arms. Buster immediately scrambles to his feet and races to greet Piper, who sets the groceries down on the kitchen counter before greeting the mutt with a rub behind the ears.

“Nicky, Red called me!” Piper shouts. “ _Red_ wasted a phone call _on me_ just to tell me to make sure you’re feeding your damn dog!” The blonde pulls Buster into her arms and whispers, “No hard feelings, little guy. Your mom just needs a little tough love sometimes.”

“Quit touching him!” Nicky shouts back as she walks out into the open living room. “You’re gonna get your confused not-lesbian cooties all over him!”

Piper smiles and places Buster down so she can trash the stale pizza crusts in his dog food bowl and fill it with actual kibble. “Buster’s going to eat a little in an attempt to rebalance his diet and then we’re going to go. Nicky, you ready to go?”

“Piper, I don’t wanna. Buster doesn’t either. Right, boy?”

The little dog whimpers and lies flat on the ground, covering his eyes with his paws.

“When did you teach him to do that? _How_ did you teach him that?”

“I have no fucking idea! Wild, right?” Nicky grins proudly. “I think he was a circus dog or something. He just knows shit. Like the other day I caught him tearing up a brand new roll of toilet paper and as I’m telling him what a dick move that is, he just decides to play dead! And it’s freaking adorable.” 

“Impressive, but neither of you are off the hook,” Piper says as she starts unloading the groceries and putting them where they belong. They spent a whole afternoon once with Piper organizing the cupboards and pantry as Nicky sat on the ground playing fetch with Buster. “If Alex were here then maybe, but she isn’t. Plus, some fresh air would be good for you. Larry is going to cut down a tree.”

“That whole deal is weird to me, by the way,” Nicky says. “So your ex-fiancé is now dating your best friend, who has a baby, and who you went into business with _after_ they visited you in prison to flaunt their relationship in your face? Now we’re going to a Christmas tree farm with them to pick out a tree for the shop you all invested in?”

 “Yup,” Piper says. "Well, I find it weird that your great uncle married his daughter's best friend who already had a fourteen-year-old daughter of her own when you were already in your twenties." 

"Eh, that's Orange County for you. And, hey, the Nichols are an All-American family. America at its finest!"

“And apparently my American dream includes making nice-nice with my business partner-slash-best friend who fucks the guy I almost married while her child with another man sleeps in the next room.” Piper frowns. “It’s really disappointing that you don’t have any alcohol in here.”

“Alright.” Nicky slides her arms through the sleeves of her coat. “Now or never.”

“Wait! I got Buster an early Christmas present!” Piper reaches into one of the canvas bags and pulls out a neatly wrapped gift. She sets it on the ground in front of the dog that’s munching on kibble. After a moment of the three of them staring at the present on the ground, Nicky grabs it and tears it open.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Booties!” Piper shouts. “For his paws! The saleswoman at that pet store across the street from our shop totally gave me a discount. They’re waterproof and even have reflective straps.”

“They look stupid,” Nicky says. “Not to mention emasculating.”

“Think about his paws, Nicky.”

So after Buster finishes his food, Nicky and Piper struggle to get the little booties on his paws before they finally leave the loft. Needless to say, they all have a terrible time. Things are so fucking awkward and Polly keeps glancing at Buster like he’s going to snap and eat her child’s face off and Nicky nearly smokes an entire carton of cigarettes.

But Nicky is willing to spend a couple of hours in the cold at some farm in the middle of nowhere after everything Piper’s done for her. They rarely talk about it, but Nicky knows Piper has her moments where she’s just as lonely and misses Alex and everyone just as much as Nicky does. Plus, it isn’t all that bad. Larry totally fails at cutting down the tree they choose for the window display of their soap shop and Nicky makes as many emasculation jokes as she can.

 

 

*

 

 

The only bummer about the loft is it doesn't have a washer and dryer yet and while she waits for it to be delivered and installed, Nicky has to use the communal laundry in the basement, which isn't a big deal, not even an annoyance. After spending five years in prison even annoyances start to feel like luxuries. 

Nicky will put a load of laundry in and while she's waiting for it she'll explore the building. She mostly ends up in the communal workout room, watching whatever daytime shit is on as Buster walks on the treadmill. What really gets her about the place is how there's a fucking vending machine full of chips and candy, a stoner's 24-hour paradise, in the same room as the exercise equipment. Fucking A.

The TV is on some national geographic shit that makes her think of Taystee when a woman walks in and stops shortly. She's cute, petite, was probably one of those grungy chicks in high school who cut class to smoke under the bleachers with Kurt Cobain types and high school lesbian types like Nicky, but now is forced to grow up, put on a big girl pantsuit and hates her job. The little tag on the lapel of her blazer says "Marlena." She keeps looking back and forth between Nicky and Buster and back.

"Excuse me," Marlena says in her best professional voice. "We have a strict no pets policy."

"Pets?" Nicky knows playing stupid is futile, but it's her go-to in the moment. "What pets?"

Marlena makes a sound that's between a gargle and a laugh. "Hey, I gave up LSD in 2001. Either there's a dog on the treadmill or my morning mimosa was laced with something special."

Nicky smirks at how fast she dropped the professional front. Nicky Nichols kind of has that effect on people. 

"Oh!" Nicky slaps her palm against her forehead. "What? You mean Buster? No, he's not a dog. I mean, he is, but he’s not _just_ a dog. He's my companion, my comrade, my compadre. To say he's just a dog is just plain disrespectful."

"Alright, well, we also have a strict no companion, comrade, compadre policy also."

“Would you buy that he’s a service dog?”

Before Nicky can come up with a more convincing approach, they hear a loud pop as the light above them goes out. Marlena gasps and grabs onto Nicky's arm in fright. It kind of takes Nicky by surprise because, shit, it's been so long since another human being has touched her. Buster is a cuddle monster and Piper is always giving Nicky these comforting touches on the arm or back because she _knows_. But this is different and unexpected and new. Marlena quickly pulls away and awkwardly clears her throat.

"This place, I swear, it's like everything decided to fall apart the minute our maintenance guy quit."

"You know, I used to work in electrical," Nicky says slyly. "I know my way around a tool set. Changing light bulbs is cake. I even fixed my door that kept jamming and I'm pretty well versed in electrical panels. I could help out around here free of charge if you help me out."

Nicky's eyes move to treadmill where her goofball is still walking along with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, wearing his new studded leather collar with a new set of tags. One has his name and their address engraved on it. The second metal tag has the message: _who rescued whom_? It is Marlena’s job to be a dick, Nicky gets that, but what kind of unfeeling robot refuses to smile at Buster?

"Fine," Marlena says. "Just be sure to clean up after it and keep it out of sight. If there's so much as a single complaint it is out of here. And you can kiss your security deposit goodbye." 

"Buster. He's got a name. It's Buster."

"There's a utility closet down the hall with tools and spare bulbs and things. Feel free to use what you need. I'm Marlena, the building manager, by the way."

"I'm Nicky Nichols, 505."

"You should probably put your contract-breaking pet away while I get the keys for the utility closet." 

"Again, his name's Buster or Bagel Dog."

Marlena stares at her in a way that says she's surprised by Nicky's tenacity, but also _more_. She nods and walks out of the room as Nicky walks over to the treadmill and slowly turns down the speed till it comes to a stop. She picks Buster up and he's sure to lick her cheek. 

"What? You didn't think I'd fight for you? You and me, The Dyke and the Mutt, against the world."

With Buster tucked snuggly under her arm, Nicky walks out into the hallway and can’t help, but stare at Marlena’s retreating figure and that black pantsuit. Nicky doesn’t realize what she’s doing until Marlena turns a corner and is out of sight and Nicky snaps out of it and fuck. What just happened? 

 

 

*

 

 

So Nicky becomes something of the building's go-to maintenance personnel and she gets to know some of her neighbors through it. Well, she doesn't get to know them so much as gets insight into their lives. For instance, Nicky’s asked to check out a dishwasher for the crime novel writer guy who’s always bickering his hot NYPD girlfriend and the bickering almost always turns into hot sex. Then there’s the guy who thinks he’s smoother than he actually is, always wears suits and always tries to hit on Nicky. The guy’s sort of a pain, but when Nicky went in to check on his malfunctioning smoke detector she stumbled onto his extensive porn collection and that was…interesting. 

While doing the odd maintenance job here and there, Nicky also gets to know Marlena, who isn't a total drag when she's off the clock and trades the pantsuit in for a leather miniskirt. She supervises Nicky for the first few jobs and they start talking. After a conversation that gets a little unintentionally heavy, both discussing their equally troubled pasts, Marlena invites Nicky along to the neighborhood Narcotics Anonymous meetings. It’s there that Nicky starts to feel a little more grounded in the present instead of longing for the comfort of the past.

"I still don't like her," Piper says firmly. "Someone who'd refer to a sweetheart like Buster as 'it' doesn't deserve to be liked. But I do like the ridiculousness of shit you learned in Litchfield actually coming in handy in the outside world.”

“Shut it, Chapman. We all can’t start a soap empire the second we’re out.” Nicky slides her fingers through her hair and nervously sucks on her teeth. "She's not all bad. Marlena’s kind of alright.”

Piper eyes her from across the breakfast bar, trying to see into her, and Nicky finds it annoying. "Is she hot? You think she's attractive."

"I mean, she isn't _unattractive_..."

"You hooked up?"

Nicky scoffs and leans against the back of her barstool. "Jesus, Chapman, thanks for having faith in me! …I mean, I've thought about it, of course I thought about it, but Lorna...I asked her to wait for me, which implies I'd wait for her, but she also said…shit..."

"Do you love her?" Piper asks.

"Manager Chick? No! I know her better, but still, I barely know her."

"You know what I mean, Nicky."

"You know I do," Nicky says quietly. She might even look and sound a little _vulnerable_ as she says it. "It's just weird, you know? Ever since Lorna walked into Litchfield four fucking years ago she was the only one I wanted. Hotter, less complicated, less crazy girls came through, some even wanted me more than she did at the time, but even if I fucked 'em I’d always walk back to my bunk and catch myself thinking about her..."

"I'm sensing a but?"

Nicky falls toward with her forearm stretched across the cool marble, staring hard at the cheese plate Piper brought over. " _But_ I'm out and she's still in there and don't get me wrong you and Buster are the best, but..."

"It's difficult." Piper nods knowingly. "It's understandable. Just whatever you decide to do you can’t tell Lorna. I think we all remember what happened after the Christopher thing and you aren't there to hold her and help her through it if she, you know..."

And, fuck, she knows Chapman is just trying to be supportive and reasonable, but now Nicky just feels worse. She knows just how Lorna can get and a part of her is worried sick all the time, but then there’s also the other part of her, the one plagued with a different kind of anxiety that comes with the realization that being in a relationship means being accountable for another human being. Lorna Morello is one hell of a complicated human being and Nicky has never been good at relationships, in and even before Litchfield.

"That is shit advice, Chapman!” Nicky shouts. “You're supposed to tell me not to do anything with the Hot Manager Chick! That’s what you’re supposed to say!"

Piper throws up her hands in frustration and Nicky spins away in her chair. She reaches for a little rubber ball on the counter, bounces it once and Buster comes running. Nicky tosses the ball in her hand across the living area and the black and white blur chases after it. He retrieves it before it can roll down the hall and brings it back to Nicky, who moves onto the floor.

“Good boy, Buster,” Nicky praises him. “What do you think of all of this, huh?” Nicky waves the ball and Buster mouths at her hand, trying to steal it back. “Pshh, why am I even asking you, huh? You hump Piper’s UGGs on occasion.”

“He what?”

Nicky just laughs and tosses the ball again. “Maybe I’m just overthinking this shit for nothing. Maybe Marlena isn’t even gay. She’s probably dating some asshole Jets fan who’s seen the Godfather ten too many times.”

Piper nods and sips her tea. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Here’s for hoping.”

 

 

 *

 

 

_How’s your work with washers? ;)_

That’s the text Nicky gets from Marlena. At eleven o’clock at night. 

So maybe she was really, really, _really_ wrong.

It’s so clearly a booty call, right? What the hell else could it be other than a booty call, especially this late and with that damn winky face at the end?

Nicky thinks about ignoring it with an, oops, my phone was dead and my charger is broken shrug when she sees her Marlena next. But then Nicky’s eyes turn to Buster who’s entertaining himself, gnawing on a tire rope toy from Piper, whose addiction to spoiling the pooch is out of hand. As she mulls over ways to respond, Nicky realizes the last thing she wants is for Marlena to feel ignored and rejected and force her to get rid of Buster out of spite and embarrassment. At least, Nicky thinks that’s why she thumbs out a quick reply on her phone, grabs her tool belt (also a gift from Piper) and heads out the door.

 

 

*

 

 

“An inmate from Litchfield Federal Prison is attempting to contact you. To accept the call, please press one…”

Nicky accepts the call as she paces around her loft. “Hello?”

“Hey you,” Lorna says. “So, I’ve got Norma for Secret Santa. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Nicky smiles because, shit, that’s so comforting to hear. Secret Santa. Like old times. It brings Nicky back to a place and time that was routine and oddly warm for prison. It also reminds her of a certain gift she made one year, a fantasy collage board with a certain bride and groom on it. Man, she was in so deep and Nicky doesn’t even mind admitting it anymore.

“I’m sure you’ll get creative,” Nicky says. “So, uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you…something sort of happened…”

“Oh?” Her voice cracks a little.

“Nothing bad,” Nicky assures her. “Just, you know, the building manager chick I told you about, predominantly hetero, but more than incidentally homo, the one that hooked me up with NA? Well, she asked me to take a look at her washer last night, but it wasn’t like the industrial ones they got at Litchfield, not that it mattered because when I turned around to tell her I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, she’s just standing there in the doorway _naked_ except for like these CEO-slash-dominatrix heels and—”

“Why are you tellin’ me all this, Nichols?” Lorna asks. She sounds on the verge of tears and Nicky’s heart sinks and she falls back against the couch. “Could you just…spare me the details?”

“I’m telling you all this because I didn’t do anything, Lorna,” Nicky replies gently. “This hot chick, who was totally naked right in front of my very eyeballs, propositioned me with like, tool puns and _I said no_. Honestly, being sexually ambushed by an acquaintance just made me miss you even more.”

Lorna laughs and, god, it’s so beautiful and Nicky just wants to hear it again and be closer to it and closer to her. Nicky presses the phone so hard against her face it starts to hurt and, god, they’re so damn close yet so damn far.

“You didn’t have to scare the hell outta me, Nicky!”

Nicky bites on the tip of her tongue and smirks. “You know me, all about my dyke drama.”

“I’ve got some things to say to you, Nicky Nichols.” She tries to sound angry, but Nicky knows better, knows that she’s smiling with her eyes sealed shut and trying to swallow a laugh.

“Yeah, well, a couple more months and you can tell me to my face, baby.”

 

 

*

 

 

“I swear, Chapman, one comment about this stalking thing being ironic…" 

“Didn’t even cross my mind.”

Piper, Nicky and Buster are parked just off the Litchfield property in Piper’s fucking inconspicuous Prius. Today is the day. It’s the day Lorna finally gets out. The whole Morello family is already in the parking lot waiting for her and that’s already going to be overwhelming so they decided to wait to see her, but Nicky is Nicky and impatient as hell so here they are staking out Litchfield.

“Oh! We should have brought binoculars,” Piper jokes.

“Damnit! How could we have forgotten?” Nicky playfully slams her hand against the dashboard.

Piper shakes her head and runs her fingers through Buster’s fur. He was originally situated in Nicky’s lap, but when her fidgeting became too much, Buster hopped over to Piper. He’s freshly bathed and has a bright red bowtie attached to his black studded collar.

“Don’t shake your head at me!” Nicky glares at her blonde friend who is way too amused right now. “Like you aren’t going to be a lovesick puppy wreck when Alex finally gets out.”

“Just in time for Valentine’s Day,” Piper says wistfully, surely trying to annoy Nicky on purpose. “Isn’t it weird how this place was a literal hell on earth and yet we just keep gravitating back to it?”

“I had the best time of my sober life in that prison,” Nicky says. Something about saying it aloud makes the words sink in a little deeper. “Isn’t that sad?”

“No. Not at all.”

The two former inmates watch from a distance as another is released. Nicky sits a little taller in her chair when Lorna takes her first steps out of Litchfield and is swarmed by Morellos. Good for her. That she has a family who may not understand her and what she is and what she’s been through, but is going to welcome her back into their home regardless. This was all Nicky needed to see. She settles back into her chair and lets herself breathe easy again.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“That’s it?” Piper asks incredulously. “We drove upstate for that anticlimactic little display?”

“Yep, c’mon, I want a bagel,” Nicky says, fixing her aviators on the bridge of her nose. Piper throws her hands up before starting the car. “Hey Piper, thanks.”

Not Chapman. Not Blondie. Not Not-Lesbian. _Piper_.

Nicky is rarely forthright when it comes to sentimentality, but feels Piper gets the message with the discrete gesture. It’s apparent from the look on the blonde’s face.

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen me leading up to Alex getting out.”

“Yeah, but at least I’ll have Lorna to suffer through it with me.”

 

 

*

 

       

Lorna texts Nicky once she gets her new phone set up, saying they should meet. She says she’s craving a slice from Joe’s and Nicky doesn’t mind braving the cold and the obnoxious NYU hipsters and tourists who swarm the place. Honestly, Nicky would agree to anything if it means seeing her. 

Nicky decides to bring Buster along and makes him wear the dumb-looking yet totally functional booties, which have become a staple after Nicky took him for a walk through the city once and the dog nearly stepped in glass, finding a used condom in the gutter fascinating and fixated on getting it. There are moments where Nicky realizes that Bagel Dog is kind of a sick fuck so no wonder they’re perfect for each other.

It’s nice out, even warm for a New York City winter. Nicky shoves her hands into her pockets and tries to calm her nerves as Buster drags her down the street like he knows exactly where they’re going. She tries to tell herself there’s no reason to be nervous even with all the time that’s passed.

“You better love her, Bagel Dog,” Nicky says, not giving a shit if people overhear or see her talking to her dog. At least she’s talking to her dog unlike the woman to their right calling out for the squirrels. “Lorna’s good people. Someone you want in your corner. And she’s hotter than Chapman’s UGGs, I can promise you that, son.”

They reach the square and there’s no sign of Lorna so Nicky lets Buster off his leash and pulls out the little red ball from the pocket of her leather jacket. Bagel Dog sits at her feet, his eyes on the ball and only the ball as his tail wags back and forth. Nicky barely even trained the dog. He just knows stuff, is housebroken and behaves off the leash in the sense that he’s fucking loyal. He’d never run off on her. True to the dog tag on his collar and the new tattoo she’s considering, Nicky’s convinced Buster saved her and less the other way around.

Nicky tosses the ball and Buster chases after it. Before he can reach it, the ball rolls right into a pair of boots and there she is. _Lorna_. It’s weird to see her out of the standard prison wear and her slight curls are neater, but her lips are just as red as they always are. Lorna picks up the ball and Buster goes to sit at her feet and is his tail wagging even more than usual? Love at first fucking sight.

“A hot girl shows up and he just completely abandons the game.” Nicky clicks her tongue as she slowly walks over. “Yup, he’s definitely mine.”

“He’s adorable and healthy. Now I can happily report back to Red that, yes, Bagel Dog is indeed still alive.” Lorna bends down to pet Buster and, fuck, Nicky takes a moment to silently thank whoever came up with skinny jeans. Fucking genius.

“Hey Morello, if my dog doesn’t like you, we might have a problem.”

Lorna tilts her head with laughter and looks up at Nicky with tear-glazed eyes. Nicky stares and stares and keeps staring, especially when Lorna takes her words as a challenge and lifts Buster into her arms. Bagel Dog automatically licks Lorna’s cheek and curls up, tucking his head beneath her chin.

“Yeah,” Lorna says, “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

When Buster grows antsy and starts to squirm, Lorna sets him back down and Nicky is no longer caught up staring, but stepping closer. Nicky leans in, as if to hug Lorna—and then their mouths meet—sweet and slow. It’s all either of them has thought about for months now reduced to nothing and washed away by this kiss. Though she’d rather go on kissing her girl, Nicky can’t help the way her lips draw into a smile against her mouth.

“At least you kiss better than you dirty talk, Morello.”

“You shut up!” Lorna smacks her playfully and Nicky wraps her arms around her. They stay like that for a long moment and when Buster starts scratching at Nicky’s boots she takes the ball and tosses it as far as she can, sending Buster racing and buying them a little alone time. Lorna laughs. “You’re a great mom.”

“What? I’m his Red. I’m 100% sure Red would do the same thing to Yuri and Vasily and the other one I can never remember.”

“Yeah, and that worked out so well for them.” Lorna bites her lip and fists the cold leather of Nicky’s jacket, holding on as if for dear life. “C’mon, let’s go. Pizza. And a bagel for the Bagel Dog.”

“Hear that, Buster?” Nicky takes the ball and slides it into her pocket before leashing the dog once more. “Five minutes into this love affair and she’s already spoiling you.”

“And I’m not even sorry about it.”

Nicky has Buster’s leash in one hand and her other arm around Lorna’s shoulders, their fingers loosely interlaced. As they walk, Nicky can’t help, but realize how weird this is, that they’re both out of Litchfield and just walking down the street with her dog (maybe they’ll even call him _their_ dog someday) and not a care in the world. It’s weird, but unlike all the other times, it’s a welcomed weirdness and, yeah, Nicky can see herself really getting use to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In my head, Lizzy Caplan played Marlena because Lizzy Caplan and Natasha Lyonne acting together is eternally on my wishlist.


	3. My Sister, the Kanye Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A follow-up to "Nicky Gets a Dog."
> 
> Inspired by Tumblr user eightieskidd's dope Nicky/Lorna fan art (bribe) as seen below. I hope I did your gorgeous artwork and our smallest of ships justice.

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

"The mutt has gotta go, Morello." 

Nicky stands at the foot of her bed, bare feet planted firmly against the cherry wood floor. It takes all her willpower to remain stern because Lorna’s tangled in her bed sheets, actual curlers in her hair, looking cute as fuck in a faded tee that’s obviously Nicky’s, and—

No! No, no, no, she isn't going to let herself be distracted by Lorna Morello’s hotness. Nicky narrows her eyes at the mutt in question, who's taking up her side of the bed, paws up in the air, looking so damn innocent. 

"He seems fine to me." Lorna reaches over and lazily strokes her fingers through Buster's wiry fur. "If you say so. You gotta take him, Nichols. I don't got any pants on and you do."

Nicky licks her lips, very awake of these facts. "No, I mean he _has to go_. I wake up in the middle of the night and this little asshole's asshole is in my face while he's all cuddled up to you like something on a tin of Christmas cookies. I've finally found a least favorite position in bed."

"Aw, are you jealous Bagel Dog loves me more than you?"

"First of all, not possible." Nicky sits on the edge of the bed and pats the mattress. Buster scurries over and melts her resolve. "All I'm sayin' is it's a little crowded in bed, alright? Actually, Buster set up shop long before you so maybe it's you who's gotta go, Morello."

Lorna shoots her a dry look that reminds Nicky of the mock job fair that one year, the uptight lady running it, Lorna with a similar look on her face and wearing that sailor outfit. And, shit, now Nicky’s thinking about that short, fitted sailor outfit, and when she goes to tease her about it, Lorna looks so serious, offset by every other inch of her.

"Answer me this,” Lorna say, sitting up on her knees. “If we were in a burning building and you could only save me or the dog who would you save?"

Nicky scoffs. "What kind of dumb question is that? You can walk just fine! Your one leg is double his four and he only has one eye!"

"We could lose Buster in Central Park and he'd be sitting in front of the building long before we got back," Lorna argues. "Meanwhile, I get lost taking the trash to the shoot."

"Well, you've got a point there."

Nicky moves closer, intending to kiss away the sour look on Lorna’s face. Moments like this are so surreal. It’s hard to believe that they aren’t in Litchfield anymore, that they’re together and happy. It’s so surreal that they have to reach out for each other and physically seek reassurance. Lorna digs her fingers into the material of Nicky’s tank top, occasionally catches strands of her hair. Nicky’s hand finds Lorna’s hip, drawing her thumb over the trim of her panties before slowly pushing up beneath the worn material of that shirt Nicky loves seeing her in.

Lorna lets out one of those insanely hot gasps and it quickly dissolves into a sigh. Hearing her, that extra bit of encouragement, Nicky pulls at Lorna’s bottom lip with her teeth. Just as Lorna tugs on Nicky’s hair, Buster jumps at them, nuzzles his way between them, that adorable, attention seeking little shit. Nicky growls irritably while Lorna falls back against a pillow, overcome with giggles.

“Stawwp,” Nicky whines, giving Buster a pointed look. “I should’ve named you Blue Balls.” Buster hustles to the foot of the bed, picks up his plush cupcake toy and brings it to Nicky before sitting and staring at her expectantly. "Son, I love you, but mommy wants some Morello time, okay?" 

“We should probably get out of bed at some point today.” Lorna grabs the cupcake and holds it up, causing Buster to pounce on her, tail wagging, excited that someone finally wants to play. Nicky sits back and watches them. She can spend hours watching them together and definitely has.

Nicky slides to the end of the bed, digs through the bedside table and pulls out a Tiffany Blue box wrapped in a silky white ribbon. Lorna’s smile fades when she sees the box in Nicky’s anxious hands.

“Nicky…”

She forces a laugh. “The employees in there were total assholes. You should have seen their faces when I paid _in cash_ , took my time counting it out and everything.” Nicky smiles proudly and gives the box a little shake. “What are you waiting for, kid? Open it!”

Lorna treats it like a holy relic when Nicky plops it into her awaiting hands. She slowly pulls the ribbon away and opens the box to find a gold pendant with a round brilliant diamond on a gold chain. Lorna traces along the little links with the tips of her finger as if to make sure it’s real, to make sure what she’s seeing is actually there.

“It’s real so don’t drop it down the drain or anything, yeah?” Nicky doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lorna this in awe and it gives her such a thrill. “The dick behind the counter kindly explained that it’s an olive leaf pendant inspired by the olive _branch_ , a symbol of peace and abundance or whatever. I saw it and thought of you. It’s classy, right?”

Lorna turns to Nicky with tears starting to form in her eyes and shoves the box back toward her. “No, no, I can’t. Nicky, you gotta take it back.”

Her brows furrow and her lips press together, the closest Nicky Nichols would ever get to a pout. “Why?”

“Why? Because neither of us are working and all we do everyday is binge watch Game of Thrones and order takeout. No, I can’t. It’s too much.”

“You don’t even know how much it was!”

“It came in a blue box. I got an idea,” Lorna argues.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nicky takes the gold necklace and slides behind Lorna. She clips the gold chain around Lorna’s neck and presses a gentle kiss to that spot just below her ear. “We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us! We’ll figure shit out eventually, okay? I meant it when I said I’d take care of you.”

Lorna tilts her chin up and presses back against Nicky, who then wraps her up in her arms. They sit in this content silence as light filters in through the glass window on what might be the most beautiful day of the year. Fucking birds are chirping somewhere and Buster’s nails click against the floor in the next room and everything is so light. Nicky never expected to be this happy ever, but she really is.

“Sometimes none of this feels real,” Lorna says quietly. She brings the tips of her fingers to the little gold pendant while her other hand plays with a lock of Nicky’s hair. Lorna’s eyes are fixed on a point across the room so she wouldn’t see the way Nicky’s smile dims even if they were facing each other.

“What do you mean?”

“You and me here, together. It all just feels too perfect to be real sometimes.”

Nicky relaxes, chuckles, and drops a kiss to Lorna’s cheek. “Well, now whenever things start to feel like they aren’t real, you have a little something to remind you that they are. It’s like your own personal version of the top in Inception.”

Lorna sighs deeply and smiles as she twists just in time to see Nicky roll her eyes. “Oh, Leo Di Caprio.”

“Can we not start on the fucking Leo Di Caprio conversation again?” Nicky groans. Suddenly, there’s a clamor from the next room. It’s the sound of something heavy hitting the ground and smaller somethings scattering. “That fucking dog, I swear! You know, he never used to do this shit before you showed up. You’re a bad influence, Morello.” Nicky reluctantly untangles herself from around Lorna, intending to investigate.

“And since you’re up, take Buster down, will ya?" 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” 

“And, Nick, one more thing!”

“What now?”

Just as Nicky stands up, Lorna yanks her back down. Nicky’s head literally bounces against the mattress and when Lorna kisses her, she has what she knows is probably the stupidest grin on her face.

Nicky feels it too sometimes, like things are too good to be true, but instead of fearing it, she chooses to push it out of her mind, pull Lorna closer and kiss her harder. Nicky Nichols finally knows happiness is a possibility, but she’s still skeptical about forever.

 

 

…

 

 

It’s Franny’s idea for Nicky to come over to the Morello's for Sunday dinner. 

It isn’t so surprising. Her older sister is always going on and on about family being the ultimate test, one every guy Franny’s brought around has failed. Maybe not failed. More like opted out of. Guy after guy, they’d end up giving Franny some lame excuse about how the Morellos are just _too much_ and make it hard to get a word in, all completely true, but they mostly didn’t want to deal with the responsibility of being a father.  

When Franny suggests that Nicky come over for dinner it isn’t like the time with Christopher. Lorna ducks her head shamefully just thinking about that. Franny isn’t preparing to administer some prerequisite to gain access into the Morello family. Franny just wants to finally meet the person Lorna spends all her time with. It isn’t the same thing because the family doesn’t know how close Lorna and Nicky really are. Franny and Mikey are always peeking through the blinds every time Nicky picks her up and probably suspect with how often Lorna “falls asleep” at Nicky’s, but they never bring it up, probably because everyone is still walking on eggshells around her.

It’s probably stupid, but Lorna has this whole script written out in her head. Her family is embarrassing, but Nicky is always so cool and Lorna is there to facilitate. She wants everything to go smoothly, the merging of her two worlds. She spends the entire day cleaning every inch of the Morello house and tries to help with dinner, but her dad and Franny both shoo her away. The kitchen was always their place like the couch in front of the TV has her dad and her brothers’ ass imprints in the cushions.

It being life, of course nothing goes as Lorna scripted.

Lorna looks at her reflection in the mirror and purses her bright red lips, making sure that every hair is in place. There’s so much she can’t control and Lorna knows this, but her appearance is one. Even if that isn’t true, she’s going to do everything in her power to make it so.

“You look nice,” Franny says from the doorway. “The red lip suits you.”

Lorna turns to her sister and smiles. “Thanks.”

“She’s important to you, isn’t she? This Nicky person.”

Lorna nods because she can’t form words without making a mess of it and Franny nods back because she doesn’t know what else to say and that’s the end of it. They used to tell each other everything or at least their versions of everything, but things have been different since Lorna got out. It’s so hard to relate to each other now. Lorna would be lying if she said it wasn’t part of the reason she spends majority of her time with Nicky and Buster.

By the time Nicky’s on the stoop, ringing the doorbell, the kids are home from school. Their shoes and school bags are all over the place along with the toys Lorna spent the morning putting away. The two youngest are chasing each other around and Franny’s oldest, Mario, is wearing grandpa’s tool belts and sitting in front of a basket of laundry, meticulously tying the corners of all the bed sheets together. Lorna looks around at all the madness, ready to pass out.

When she opens the door, Nicky looks as cool as always in her aviator sunglasses, framed by her mass of hair that almost looks gold beneath the sun. She’s in black from the soft fabric of her dress to the toes of her Doc Martens. Lorna smiles and greets her the way one would greet a houseguest in a movie made back when morality did not permit spouses to be shown sleeping in the same bed. Lorna immediately feels like an idiot, but Nicky just grins, slightly confused, but mostly amused, a typical reaction to Lorna’s quirks.

“Baby, relax.” Nicky gently touches Lorna’s shoulder. “It’s just dinner.”

Lorna nods with enthusiasm laid over dread. “Yeah, just dinner.”

She backs up against the door and motions for Nicky to enter. Nicky struts in and Lorna asks to take her leather jacket. It still doesn’t register that she’s trying way too hard. Lorna goes to make introduction, but it seems no one has even noticed Nicky’s arrival. Her dad and Mikey have already set up camp in front of the TV and Franny is trying to separate the two young boys wrestling on the living room floor, slapping each other silly.

“Oh God,” Lorna mutters to herself, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “This is a disaster.”

“Soft eyes, Morello,” Nicky whispers. “Did Jones teach ya nothing?”

Lorna slaps her arm, but breathes a little easier when she meets Nicky’s eyes. There’s no judgment among the green beneath those long eyelashes generously lathered in mascara, just adoration. Once Franny finally separates the boys, they run off screaming. When Lorna introduced them to her _friend_ , Nicky, Mikey can’t bother to drag his ass off the couch, just waves. Her dad only shouts at the TV, his hands cutting through the air, mumbling something about A-Rod, punctuated by a slur that Mikey nods along to.

Franny walks back into the kitchen after announcing that dinner should be done in a few. Lorna gives Nicky a short tour of the Morello house and Nicky stops to thoroughly inspect every framed photo, sneaking in a teasing little comment at every opportunity. The last stop on the tour is Lorna’s bedroom and as soon as they walk through the door, Lorna lets her nervous hostess mask slip. 

“Damn, your sister has a firm handshake.” Nicky playfully shakes out her arm and even winces just to round out the performance.

Lorna shuts the door after them, muffling the chaos on the other side. “Well, the assholes she dates keep runnin’ off on her so Franny’s gonna be the mom and the dad.”

Nicky gives her one of those looks as if she’s trying to decide if Lorna’s serious about what she’s saying and this time, like most times, she is.

“It ain’t easy, y’know,” Lorna continues. “But Franny, she’s good. Don’t tell ‘er I said this, but our family would’a probably fell apart a long time ago if it weren’t for her.”

Nicky hums and walks in a small semi-circle around the room, taking it all in. Lorna’s inspiration wall once covered in cutouts from magazines has long been taken down, forgotten. It’s now the kids’ room with a bunk bed pushed to one side and a crib full of junk parallel to it. The room is littered with toys and children’s clothing, an Avengers poster on the wall along with crayon and marker scribbles. Lorna’s been living out of cardboard boxes open on the floor. They did keep her West Side Story poster on the wall, a small kindness and single reminder that she even lived in the house.

Nicky sits on the edge of the bottom bunk bed, bounces up and down a bit. The tiny hint of a smile on her face says the springiness of the mattress makes her rather nostalgic, probably for Litchfield.

"Hey Morello, you a top or bottom?" 

"I’m not even gonna answer that."

"No need. I know better than anyone, huh?"

Lorna sits next to Nicky and slaps her lightly on the arm. Nicky smirks, always so collected, coolness worthy of envy. She takes hold of Lorna’s tiny, clammy hand and presses a kiss to each knuckle. 

“You overwhelmed yet?” Lorna asks wearily. “We could always call it off. We could be over at your place, eating pizza with Buster in half an hour.”

“What kind of _friend_ would I be if I bailed now?”

Lorna’s eyes widen, horrified. “I’m sorry! I don’t know why I said that.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I don’t care what anyone thinks we are. You know and I know, so relax.”

Nicky takes an exaggerated breath, so much so it’d probably be comical if Lorna weren’t taking actual, deep breaths. Inhale for three seconds, hold for two and exhale for three. Nicky is such a calming presence. As she watches Nicky reach for a nearby shoebox full of old photos, Lorna has the sudden, overwhelming urge to ask why she’s here, why she puts up with her.

“Whoa, this you?”

Nicky pulls out an old photo that’s old and curling at the edges. There’s baby Lorna, extra tiny, with short dark hair and round, pale cheeks. She has a cherry ice pop in one hand, the tip of her nose to the bottom of her chin stained red along with the front of her cute, little white dress.

“Some things never change, huh, Morello?”

“Put it away. That’s so embarrassing.”

“Fuck embarrassing. You never went through an ugly duckling phase, did you?”

Lorna shrugs and looks down, playing with the little gold pendant hanging around her neck. “It was my personality most people had a problem with.”

Nicky’s lips pull to one side, stubborn disbelief. “Fuck people, yeah?”

It takes milliseconds for one of Nicky’s mischievous smirks to make an appearance as she kisses Lorna and gently nudges her down. Lorna reaches up and pulls Nicky with her once she’s lying back on sheets covered in Toy Story characters, which is kind of weird to think about since they are essentially making out in a bed meant for children.

“Am I the first girl you ever had up here?” Nicky presses another wet kiss to Lorna’s chest before looking up at her, smirking, waiting for her suspicions to be confirmed. 

Lorna giggles, so loose and happy, detached from her hostess duties and the familial chaos brewing downstairs. “Why do you wanna know? One of your many turn-ons?”

“You better believe it.”

They kiss again and Nicky runs her hand up and down Lorna’s leg beneath her pretty dress. A loud crash is heard from downstairs and startles Lorna. Her fearful doe eyes dart to the door and Nicky leans down to kiss and lick at her lips, trying to pull her back even though it’s clearly a lost cause with how on edge Lorna is all of a sudden.

“Nicky, we are not doin’ it here with my family downstairs." 

“No fun.”

Nicky gives her lips another quick peck before pulling away. Lorna stands and smoothes her dress down her body before fretting over her hair and lipstick. Movement out of the corner of her eye draws her attention and when Lorna looks, she sees her nephew’s face on the other side of the second story window. He grins and waves without a care. All the color drains from Lorna’s face.

“Nicky,” Lorna says calmly. “Do you see…?”

Lorna’s voice trails off, but she does manage to point to the window. Nicky looks, but only manages to stare dumbly, raising a hand to wave back. 

“Fuck, it’s just like Game of Thrones!” Nicky exclaims just as Lorna shrieks, “FRANNY!”

 

 

…

 

 

Watching her nephew sit on the couch as both Franny and her dad scream incoherently at the kid is oddly nostalgic. No other Morello kid has tried to scale the house with a tool belt as a harness and bed sheets as rope, but they did raise their pop’s blood pressure with a variety of stunts back in the day.  

Lorna remembers sitting on that very couch between Franny and Mikey the time the two older siblings bet on what would happen if you microwave foil and almost burned the house down. Franny would talk back and Mikey would deny doing anything wrong, would probably deny it on his deathbed, and little Lorna, guilty by association, would cry her eyes out. Their dad would yell and yell, pacing and turning red. Then their mom would yell at him about all the noise and the neighbors overhearing and gossiping. That was her childhood in a nutshell

After the nostalgia comes the worry. Lorna worries about what Nicky must think of them, upset that her family couldn’t behave for one stinking night. Even with the screaming in the next room, Nicky seems content, sitting with Franny’s youngest and Mikey’s oldest oops baby, occupied by coloring books, sheets of paper, crayons and markers between them. Lorna smiles because Nicky’s doodles of Bagel Dog are always the best with his floppy ears and one eye that makes him look like he’s perpetually winking. Nicky sounds so proud when she tells the kids about her dog that ran away from the circus and rescued her.

When they first sit down for dinner it feels like it’s going smoothly. Her dad only looks up from his plate to drink his wine and the kids are especially behaved after Mario gets the verbal ass kicking of the century. Then Franny tries to make small talk, asks Nicky where she’s from and Nicky responds vaguely, says she was born and raised in Manhattan. Franny nods politely, but Mikey hones in on Nicky like a heat-seeking missile and drops his fork loudly against his plate.

“Old money or new money?” he asks. Lorna digs her heel into her brother’s foot beneath the table, making him yelp. “Jesus! The fuck, Lorna!”

“Shut the fuck up, Michael.”

“Hey!” Franny shouts, pointing a finger the way only a mother could. “You twos know better than to use that sorta language in front of the boys!”

“I was just asking!” Mikey yells defensively. “We were all wonderin’! Where else would you get this, huh?” Mikey waves his hand at the pendant necklace that sparkles against Lorna’s pale neck. “Shit, check you out, Lo. My sister, the Kanye song.”

Lorna shoves her elbow into her brother’s arm, making him square his shoulders and laughs like a hyena. When Mikey starts to ruffle her hair the way a brother would, Lorna punches him with the form of a pretty girl with two older brothers.

“Mario,” Franny says, addressing the boy fighting with the meatball on his plate. “How was school today, hon?”

“Boring. ‘Cept Sister Jo can’t remember she’s an _ex_ -nun, smacked me with a ruler and told me I was going to hell!”

“Been there,” Nicky mutters. “Not hell. Not yet anyway. But those ex-nuns, man.”

Mario stares at Nicky as if they're playing chess and he's debating whether or not to make a particular move. Then he goes and does it. “You went to prison too, right? What’d you get caught doing?" 

“Mario!” Franny shouts.

Nicky just laughs. “Eh, I didn’t eat my vegetables or go to school so you better stay on that.”

“Are you a dyke like Aunt Lorna?”

“What gave me away?” Nicky laughs again, but Lorna drops her fork and knife, petrified. Everyone stops what they’re doing, stopped in their tracks by the sudden tension, minus the patriarch who goes on shoving an entire meatball into his mouth. Mario stares at Nicky, oblivious to the implications of what he’s just said and still waiting for an answer.

“MARIO MORELLO!” Franny shouts. “You are askin’ for it, mister!”

“What!” the boy shouts. “Uncle Mikey asked it first!”

“What!” Mikey shouts. “It ain’t like it’s a bad thing! Personally, I think lesbians are awesome! Franny was the one saying all that stuff about jail being lesbo brainwash. It’s cool, Small Fry. You bagged yourself a good one.”

“Because she’s got money?” Lorna is furious, holds her fork like they’re still in Litchfield and thrusts it at her brother beside her.

“Hey, you said it, not me!”

“Is that what you all do?” Lorna asks. She’s livid, but making a valiant effort to remain calm, trembling with resistance. “Talk about me behind my back? That’s how little you think of me? And fucking disrespecting Nicky on top of that?”

When no one responds, Lorna violently shoves her chair back and rushes out of the room. Nicky runs after her with Franny a few seconds behind. Lorna stomps up the stairs and marches into her former bedroom. The second Nicky steps inside, ready to calm and comfort her, Lorna shoves a box of clothes into her arms. Nicky ends up standing there, uncharacteristically helpless and quiet as Franny and Lorna shout back and forth at a volume that could probably be heard from across the bay.

After what feels like an eternity of getting nowhere, Lorna storms out of her childhood home with Nicky trailing behind her, but not before she tears the West Side Story poster off the wall and brings it with them.

 

 

…

 

 

The car is silent and Nicky can’t stand it. She also hates talking purely to fill silence. Every glance over at Lorna tells her that she’s deep in her head and the last thing any of them need is Lorna racing along with her thoughts and getting trampled by them. Nicky doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say so she hums instead. She hums and hums, getting more into it by the second, bobbing her head and thumping her fingers against the leather steering wheel. Lorna finally lifts her face off the glass window and shoots Nicky a look.

“Are you really humming Gold Digger right now, Nichols?”

“What? It’s an honor to be a Kanye song! Would it help if I told you Gold Digger’s my favorite Kanye song…out of like the four Kanye songs I know? Kanye songs are hot.”

Nicky slips her hand onto Lorna’s thigh, rubbing comforting lines up and down. She can’t help the way she stares, fixated on the sight of her fingers caressing Lorna’s smooth skin, pushing the hem of her dress higher and higher.

“Jesus, Nicky, are ya tryin’a kill us? Watch the road, will ya?”

“Did you ever fucking watch the road whenever you drove the transfer van around?” Nicky asks in return. “I swear to god, every time you drove me back from the SHU, you’d be looking back at me, yapping on about whatever dyke drama was oh so overhyped that week.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Nicky more than enjoyed it. She appreciated it. Her senses would be going haywire, trying to adjust to the brightness of the outside world and outside sounds. Lorna could have spent the entire drive bitching at her for whatever got her sent there in the first place, but she never did. In retrospect, it reminds Nicky of something Chapman said once, something about feeling like coming home after a long trip. Nicky won’t say any of this, of course, but she trusts Lorna knows by the way she smiles and how she entwines their fingers.

“Jesus, kid, you could’ve warned me before all of that.”

Lorna frowns. “I told you my family’s _the worst_.”

“Nah, they’re mostly alright, but the way you all eat! I thought it was just you who, y’know, attacked a plate of food like it was gonna try to run off on you. Man, I’m still debating if it’s nature or nurture or both.”

“You ain’t mad?” Lorna asks quietly, like she’s afraid of the answer.

“No, I’m not mad.” Nicky chuckles at the very thought, like she does every time Lorna asks. “It actually makes a shit ton of sense…” Nicky doesn’t elaborate and Lorna doesn’t ask her to. “And don’t worry. You can stay with me as long as you want. This isn’t exactly how I imagined you moving in, but we’re shit at doing things the ideal way so what the hell.”

“Thank you.” Lorna leans into Nicky, hugging her arm. “You hungry?”

“Fucking starving.”

“Anything, but Italian.”

“Tacos it is.”

 

 

…

 

 

“And now you’re living together?” Piper asks, straightening a row of candles on a shelf. It’s very important to Piper that all the labels are facing forward and since the soap shop is lacking actual paying customers at the moment it gives her something to do.  

Nicky peruses the isles of the quaint little store, pretending to be closely inspecting the products, preparing to make an informed purchase. Mostly, Nicky likes to pick something up, toss it from hand to hand for a bit and place it back on a shelf on the other side of the shop. Also giving Piper something to do.

“What? Are we not rom-com enough for you, Chapman? You will be proud to know I carried her across the threshold, bride style and everything," Nicky says, sarcasm thick in her voice. Then, much quieter, she adds, “You know I could never turn her away.”

Piper presses her lips together in what can only be a physical attempt to keep from shoving her foot in her mouth. “I’m sure it’s just a little fight with her family.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Nicky mutters. “I love having the kid around all the time, of course, but they’re her family. A loud, overtly racist, all sorts of problematic family, but they love her. I can tell they do. It’s _something_.”

“More than what some others have.” Piper nods, gives Nicky a knowing look, but doesn’t linger. She doesn’t give Nicky the opportunity to feel uncomfortable. “Things like this just take time.”

“Yeah.” Nicky picks up a bottle of artisanal bath salts, reads the label and snorts. “Sinsation Salt Soak is the item of the month, huh? Must be _sud_ sational.” 

“Funny,” Piper says dryly.

“I still think this place would’ve been better off with a name like the Good, the Bad, and the Sudsy or Soap du Jour. Ha, the Don’t Drop Soap Shop.”

“Okay, enough!” Piper puts her foot down. “Is that what you do all day? Make puppy eyes at Morello, play fetch with Buster, spend an obscene amount of time thinking up soap puns and storing them for whenever you stop by?”

“Wow, it’s nice to know what you really think of me, _Soap_ man.” Nicky winks, pulls out a carton of cigarettes and sets one between her lips. The need to satisfy the sudden craving is almost as strong as the way Nicky delights in the look of horror on Piper’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll take it outside. I should probably get back. I went out for a smoke, then thought about coffee and somehow ended up here. When I left this morning, Lorna and Buster were all curled up together like something on a fucking greeting card.”

Nicky is halfway to the door when she hears Piper say, “Lorna’s lucky to have you, you know.”

Spinning back around to face one of her few friends not in prison, Nicky chuckles. “An unemployed former junkie who can barely stand on her own? Sure.”

Nicky starts digging through her pockets for a light.

“Wait!” Piper shouts. “Before you go, what do you think of this as our new logo?”

Piper holds out a piece of card stock with a symbol on it. Nicky laughs so unexpectedly, her cigarette almost falls from where it’s perched on her bottom lip.

“It looks like a vagina.”

Piper’s eyes widen, nearly double in size. “What? No!”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been up close and personal with a reasonable amount of pussy in my time.” Nicky takes the paper from Piper, holds it out in front of them. Both Nicky and Piper tilt their heads simultaneously.

“Shit,” Piper mutters. “That is a vagina.”

“It’d be perfect if this was a snatch shop.”

“Damn it,” Piper curses, slamming a closed fist against the counter in an, _aw shucks_ sort of way. “You think you could do better?” Piper challenges her, and her eyes light with excitement. “You could! You always used to do those doodles of breasts and Lorna—”

“Jesus Christ—”

“We could pay you! Build your portfolio. I bet you’d come with something foamtastic!”

“Chapman, no,” Nicky says firmly. “Soap puns are only fun when I say ‘em.”

Nicky’s always been a doodler. Those little drawings are something she does out of boredom. It’s comforting, drawing a pencil or crayon or whatever’s available across a blank sheet of paper, watching the shit in her head fill a page. Drawing isn’t a talent or even a hobby, but a pastime in the most literal sense of the word. Nicky doesn’t even think she’s anywhere near good. She glances over at Piper’s mock logo and breathes out a puff of air.

“It doesn’t get much worse than this, huh?” Nicky chuckles, shoving up her sleeves out of pure habit. “Sure. How ‘bout you take Buster for a weekend? Lorna feels all weird about fucking in front of him. I keep telling her, baby, Buster spent years getting beat up and eating garbage on the street. Us fucking is probably the least traumatizing thing he’s seen.”

“You really could have stopped at take Buster for a weekend,” Piper drawls.

“What? You didn’t enjoy the mental imagine? Morello and I practically made your first Litchfield shower experience. Don’t tell me you didn’t like watching.”

“Get out of here already.” Piper gives her a shove that’s much less gentle than you’d imagine. “Go before Morello and Bagel Dog cut you out of the equation entirely. And I expect a new logo by the next time I see you, missy!”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Nicky scoffs, shoves off and starts backing up toward the door. “And could you not put shit in Lorna’s head? My dog does not love her more.”

“Say hi to Lorna and give Buster a belly rub for me.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” Nicky says as she pushes her way out of the shop.

Nicky goes home and does exactly that.

 

 

…

 

 

Lorna likes going on short walks through the neighborhood. It’s vibrant and hip with its luxury buildings and much safer than where Lorna grew up. She always takes Buster and gets a little more adventurous every time, going a little further away. These aren’t really areas she’d frequent before and probably wouldn’t ever and so casually if Nicky weren’t apart of her life.

The little gears in Buster’s head start turning rapidly when they walk by a line of food carts and Lorna has to wrap the leash tight around her hand. He starts sniffing at strangers’ feet, searching for any scraps he can find and Lorna firmly guides him away until a magazine at a newsstand catches her eye. It isn’t just the magazine, but the face on the magazine. A man with neatly styled hair and a Colgate smile. Something about him makes her spine tingle with familiarity. Lorna stumbles just a little closer, brings her fingers up to the glossy paper and over his face.

“Hey! Get away from me! Ma’am! Ma’am, you gotta control your dog!”

Lorna blinks and takes in her surroundings, the street and all the people around. The newsstand owner is giving her a weird look while Buster’s jumping up at another man with a plate of food in his hand held above his head. Lorna takes a breath, just realizing she hadn’t been doing so for the last few moments.

“I’m so sorry about him!” Lorna tugs on Buster’s leash and immediately starts walking down the street with her head down.

She twists her little gold pendant between her fingers and her heart doesn’t stop racing, even when she returns to the loft. Her body doesn’t stop shaking even as she wedges herself into the corner of Nicky’s closet and she can’t stop crying even when Buster tries to lick her tears away.

 

 

…

 

 

In her rush to leave the Morello house, Lorna forgot her phone, which leads to them driving back one nigh. It’s been a few days since that terrible dinner that wasn’t really dinner since they barely sat down when everything turned to shit.

When Nicky pulls up, Franny is waiting beneath the dim light over the stoop. Everything is dark and quiet once the car is off. Nicky grows antsy while Lorna remains still, frozen, near comatose. Nicky puts on a brave face, but she has zero experience handling this sort of situation. Hell no does she feel equipped to deal with this correctly, but it’s for Lorna. Nicky clawed her way out of hell with the girl and there’s no turning away now.

It doesn’t look like Lorna’s going to be moving any time soon and when she turns those big, shiny Disney princess eyes to Nicky, she curses beneath her breath, pushes her fingers through her hair and tugs on the door handle. Nicky walks up the Morello’s stoop, taking hesitant steps until she’s right in front of Franny.  

“What?” Franny barks. “She too good to get outta the car and talk to her own sister now?”

“Look, it ain’t like that,” Nicky assures her, awkwardly kicking her foot at an invisible rock. “You know all this is tough on her.”

“You know she ain’t all right in the head,” Franny says matter-of-factly. Nicky’s shoulders tense and her skin crawls beneath the cool leather of her jacket. “Lorna’s cute and naïve and if you’re taking advantage of that, of my baby sister—”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t want to.” Franny finally looks away and over to Nicky’s car parked beneath a busted streetlight. Then in a much gentler voice, Franny asks, “How’s she doing really?”

“Some days are great. Others not so much…”

“She treating you okay?”

Nicky pauses, taken aback. Every other answer to every one of Franny’s accusations and questions had been quick, clipped and calculated. This last one throws her off. Nicky narrows her eyes a smidge, trying to figure out why Franny would even think to ask. It hasn’t crossed Nicky’s mind at all.

"I take it you know about what got her locked up..."

Oh right.  _That_. Nicky would rather not think about that. 

“Of course,” Nicky replies. "And yeah, Lorna's great to me." 

“The phone she called me from, it was yours?” Franny asks. Nicky nods. “Good. You got my number. I want you to call if anything happens with her. _Anything_ at all.” Franny shoves the phone, charger and a mess of chords to her. “It’s Nicky, right? Nicky Nichols?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“That dinner…” Franny’s voice slowly dies out. “Everything that was said, don’t take it personally. It wasn’t about you or meant to offend you. All of this…it’s gonna take some adjusting. None of it’s easy for any of us.”

“Yeah, but I’m guessing it’s worst for Lorna.”

Franny nods and her eyes well with tears, but her face remains stone cold. Not a single tear falls. Franny won’t allow it. Nicky nods and starts to turn away before overstaying her welcome.

“And Nicky,” Franny says, making Nicky spin back around to face her. “If you hurt my baby sister I will hunt you down and murder yous. We clear?”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

When Nicky gets back into her car, preparing to recount that entire encounter, Lorna wants none of it. She just takes her phone and complains about how typical it is for Franny to not even bother charging it. It crosses her mind that maybe this a red flag, something to text Franny about, but Nicky just shakes off the nagging suspicion and starts the car.

 

 

…

 

 

Lorna does everything in her power to not be a burden.

Nicky doesn’t say anything because she’s Nicky, but sometimes Lorna feels it. She does what she can—tidies up around the loft, takes Buster out when Nicky’s doing her maintenance work and she’s even taken on laundry duties. So far she hasn’t accidentally turned any plain white tees pink or caused a machine to overflow with soapsuds. Lorna just takes it as a sign that she’s starting to get good at it.

_“I'm so happy ‘cause today I found my friends, they're in my head.”_

Lorna’s startled free from her thoughts by a low, intentionally scratchy voice that invades the once empty laundry room. She quickly turns and finds a woman with extreme bedhead and a basket of laundry on her hip. 

“Pardon?” Lorna says confusedly.

“Lithium,” the woman replies. “Nirvana.”

Lorna remembers the word coming from Yoga once.

“Ain’t that like Buddhist?”

“Quite possibly, but I meant your shirt.”

"Oh, it's not mine." Lorna runs her fingers down her sides, straightening the creases in the fabric. "It's my..."

The statement die on her tongue and suddenly it's so hard to speak. Lorna always gets caught on that one specific word. She doesn't know why she can't say it. She's at a point where she sees her relationship with Nicky for what it is and how serious and real it is—they're living together for Christ's sake—but for some reason she can't say that damn word. 

As Lorna's having this mental struggle, the other woman just smiles without a care, humming to herself, probably that same song Lorna still isn’t familiar with.

"Hmm, I think I've seen you around..." As if the staring isn't unnerving alone, the woman literally points at her. "You're with Nicky?" Her lips curve around the words like it's funny, a joke, and Lorna finds her heart starting to speed up, suddenly nervous, on the verge of defensive. 

"Yeah, I'm Lorna." 

"Marlena. Building Manager. Enjoying a day off. Thank gawd." She smiles and Lorna wants to find malice and ridicule in it, wants to paint an enemy target on Marlena's forehead even though they haven't said more than three things to each other. "Nicky talks about you _all the time_. Incessantly. It's nice to finally put a face to the reason for her googly eyes." 

Lorna doesn't know how to respond to that so she just nods and nods and nods with a smile that probably looks painted on. She can’t stop thinking about that phone call, when Lorna was still in Litchfield and Nicky was out here with this Marlena, who likes to take her clothes off for acquaintances trying to fix household appliances apparently.

"So you and Nicky’d hang out a lot, huh?" Lorna asks.

Marlena shrugs carelessly and Lorna tells herself it's not infuriating, just a normal human reaction. "We've hung out a few times, just as friends, of course. But mostly just NA lately. She's quite the character. Impossible to dislike. All my friends are in love with her, _especially_ the straight ones."

Lorna laughs and it's a little too loud and a lot forced, but she can't stop herself.  

"You should hang out with us sometime,” Marlena says. “I told Nicky, but she just wants you all to herself. You really should though. The neighbors are all curious about you. It’s like that scene out of Beauty and the Beast every time you walk through the lobby.”

Is that supposed to be a compliment? Who’s the beauty and who’s the beast exactly? In her current state of anxiety, Lorna can’t tell. 

"Yeah, thanks for the invite, really.” Lorna digs her fingers into the empty laundry bag and it's stressing her out how her heart is still racing with no other reason than the fact that she's Lorna and this is what she does. "I'll see ya around."

Marlena salutes her in this lazy way that reminds her of Nicky somehow and gets back to her laundry. Before Lorna pushes her way out the room, she can't help, but give Marlena another glance. The building manager is so effortlessly cool albeit a little grungy. Her basket of laundry is predominately black clothing with splashes of color that are probably band tees of her own. It's so easy to see why she connects with Nicky and it's so easy to see them hanging out, listening to the same music, smoking the same brand cigarettes, trading stories about their addictions, both the funny and the horrifying. They have so much in common. So much _more_ in common.

That's Lorna’s last thought, the thought that has her running out of the room and down the hallway. When she's alone in the elevator and everything is spinning, Lorna leans back against the back and twists the little gold pendant between her fingers, counting as she takes deep breaths. 

It would be so much easier if Marlena were a total unabashed bitch, but that isn't true. She seems perfectly decent, probably nice to Lorna out of respect for Nicky. Lorna hates that she resents a complete stranger for that. If anything, it's too easy to imagine Nicky with Marlena, without the unnecessary stress Lorna brings to her life. She tries to imagine her pendant around Marlena's neck, but can't really picture it. Lorna can see playful arguments over who gets to wear their leather jacket when they go out because they can’t both at the same time, and getting matching ring tattoos around their ring fingers.

Lorna just wants the best for Nicky. Most days Lorna doesn’t think she’s it.   

 

 

…

 

 

Piper does what Piper does best—she sends Nicky a fucking gift basket.  

It’s an actual weaved basket wrapped in cellophane with a big ribbon holding it all together. Along with an assortment of healthy versions of the vending machine junk Nicky loves so dearly is a brand new sketchbook and different drawing tools. The attached card reads:

 

_Hoping to lather you with inspiration. – P_

 

“She’s really taking the fun outta the soap puns,” Nicky mutters to herself. She twists from side to side in a swivel chair while staring at the basket on her desk in front of her.  

“I think it’s sweet of her,” Lorna says. “What were you planning on using to get the job done? That half-eaten chocolate pudding in the fridge and the pizza boxes that keep piling up?”

“Exactly. I planned to dip Buster’s paws in the pudding then let him go to town on those cardboard pizza boxes. See, it’s ironic because, well, it’ll be a total mess repping a soap shop. Greenwich hipster nation would dig it.”

“So the same technique you use with your hair then?”

“Touché.” Nicky chuckles and rounds an arm around Lorna’s waist, pulling her into her lap. “Someone’s spritely today.”

Lorna shrugs innocently. “I did all the laundry, got it all folded and properly put away. Vause would be proud. Now, I came to ask if you wanted to watch a movie with me, but it looks like you’re busy.”

“I think I’m gonna sit here for a while, stare into space, see if the muses will come out to play.” Nicky shrugs. “What movie are you gonna watch?”

“Something on Netflix probably.”

“Enticing.” Nicky kisses her neck, hands on her hips, itching to get up under her shirt, but there’s something she’s been meaning to talk to Lorna about and now is as good a time as any. “So, have you heard from your sister or anyone lately?”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean ‘nope’?”

“Franny’s called a couple times, but I don’t wanna talk to her and I really don’t wanna get into this right now.”

“You’re killin’ me here, kid.”

Lorna pulls away and gives her a look that could kill. “If you want me to go, you say so. I’m sure I could find somewhere else…”

“No!” Nicky nearly shouts, reaching out for Lorna, needing to physically reassure her. “No. You know this place is your home now.”

 _You are my home now_ , Nicky thinks and immediately hates herself for how cheesy that sounds in her head alone. Nicky gently pulls Lorna back into her lap and idly plays with her hair.

“I was just asking because I know how much family means to you.”

“You’re my family now,” Lorna says. And Nicky can’t resist kissing her and finally getting her hands up under Lorna’s shirt as short lived as it is. “Nu-uh, Nichols. You’ve got work to do.” Lorna kisses her nose and Nicky’s face scrunches up like she doesn’t enjoy it, but Lorna’s smile says she knows better.  

“Fine. Here, have some peace offering puffs.” Nicky plucks a blue and yellow bag out of the basket and inspects it. “Trader Joe’s World’s Puffiest White Cheddar Corn Puffs. Christ, if it tastes like cardboard Buster can have it.”

“We aren’t feeding the dog any more processed shit! Red’s orders!”

Nicky throws her hands up, shifting from side to side in her chair. She frowns at the little black and white fur ball wrestling with one of his toys on the ground. “I tried, buddy.”

As Nicky checks out the sets of pencils and ink pens she has to work with, she hears the distinct ring of her iPhone from the next room.

“Nick, I think you got a text!”

“Check it for me, will ya?”

There’s a pause and Nicky waits, wondering what’s racing through Lorna’s head. There’s no password on her phone. It's new and Nicky hasn’t even tried to get into contact with the circles she ran with before being hauled off to Litchfield. A part of her wonders about that Jesse Pinkman from New Mexico, but the bigger part of her, the one that always wins, is afraid to learn how many of them are still alive. Nicky has nothing to hide and she wants Lorna to know that. Maybe it will make this whole cohabitation thing a little bit easier.

“It’s Marlena!” Lorna shouts back. “Something about a busted light bulb down in the rec room.”

“Fuck,” Nicky mutters. “Alright, text her that I’m on it!”

Well, so much for working on the logo for PoPi.

(The fuck is Chapman trying to kid? Soap du Jour would have been _such_ a better name for a soap shop and the French would _totally_ piss Alex off.)

Nicky grabs her tool belt and lazily walks out into the living area to find Lorna sitting cross-legged on the sofa with Nicky’s phone in her hands. The look on her face is one of pure concentration, forehead creased, biting on the tip of her tongue. Flappy Bird. It has to be fucking Flappy Bird. Nicky walks over and slowly lowers herself onto the sofa, careful not to disturb Lorna.

“Don’t distract me, Nichols.”

“Jeez, my fucking bad for breathing. Don’t let me get in your zone.”  

Lorna curses when the pixilated bird runs straight into the green tube. Nicky can’t help, but laugh at the sound effect along with the sheer disappointment on Lorna’s face. Nicky has made a little game of her own where she sees how long Lorna can keep playing Flappy Bird with Nicky touching and kissing her, being the human embodiment of a distraction.

“Baby,” Nicky says, “I know adjusting to the outside world has been a toughie for you and all of us, really, but the thing with Flappy Bird is you don’t actually get points for face planting into the tubey things.”

“No, you don’t say?” Lorna says sarcastically.

Nicky kisses her cheek and steals her phone away. “I’ll be back in a bit. I gotta go earn Bagel Dog’s keep. Then we can go grab a bite or maybe groceries.”

"Marlena’s the manager chick, right?" Lorna’s voice is casual, maybe a little too casual, like she’s been trying to find a way to work it into the conversation this entire time. Lorna makes a face that’s so childlike, Nicky doesn’t realize the way her own face lights up until she feels the ache in her cheeks. "Her name’s _Marlena_? Isn’t that like an old lady name?"

Nicky laughs. "And this is coming from _Lorna_."

“Go fix things, _Nicole_.”

They laugh together and things are so good and fun. It's easy to ignore the fact that Lorna completely avoids any talk of her family and Nicky lets her. Lorna is just such an intoxicating presence, so bright, so much so that Nicky doesn’t even think of any of this until she’s got her tool belt strapped on and she’s taking the elevator down.  

 

 

…

 

 

Nicky isn’t around when Lorna wakes up from her nap. The note scrawled on the empty cigarette box strategically placed atop Lorna’s phone on the bedside table says she left for NA and didn’t want to wake her.

Lorna tries not to think about how Nicky’s probably with Building Manager Marlena with her complete disregard for her smudged eyeliner, how she still manages to look sexy, and her extensive knowledge of bands Nicky likes. Lorna tries not to think about the looks they’re probably exchanging, done pretending they aren’t bored to tears by whatever some poor soul is saying as he verbally examines the broken pieces of his life from the other end of the circle of chairs.

Lorna tries not to think about that conversation she had with Marlena in the laundry room, one she’s yet to tell Nicky about, and its possible connection to the way Lorna absentmindedly slips on her Jets jersey instead of one of Nicky’s comfy, faded band tees, how she fiddles with her necklace, her anchor when Nicky isn’t around.

The moment Lorna gets out of bed, Buster follows. He’s the definition of companion. Whenever Nicky is out and Lorna’s alone in the loft, Buster is always at her side. It’s almost as if there’s a silent agreement between them that Lorna should never be alone as to not feel lonely. When Nicky’s away, Buster is always close by, sitting at Lorna’s feet, curling up in her lap, licking her face when the opportunity presents itself. Lorna flips through TV channels with Buster curled up on her stomach when his ears stand up in alarm, a low growl rumbling in his throat.  

“What is it? What’s wrong, Bagel Dog?”

Suddenly, the front door of the loft opens and shuts. Buster barks and jumps off the couch, racing to the foyer. He never reacts that way when Nicky or Piper arrive and they’re the only two with keys. Buster barks repeatedly, such an angry, high-pitch sound. Lorna feels her throat go dry, unable to think or process or sort out a plan of action.

“Get away from me!” a woman shrieks. “Nicole! Get this thing away from me!”

Lorna scrambles to her feet and runs to the foyer where a woman dressed from head to toe in Louis Vuitton has her back against the door, Buster yapping at her. Lorna quickly picks Buster up and quietly soothes him. Once he sees that the intruder is no threat to Lorna, Buster quiets down. Only then does Lorna realize she’s standing in front of an elegant stranger in a Jets jersey and pink panties. 

“Hi,” Lorna says cautiously. “Can I help you?”

“Who are you? Where’s Nicole?”

“Um, I-I’m Lorna Morello,” she replies. “Nicky’s…girlfriend.”

She’s never said it aloud before. It comes out sounding a little awkward, but Lorna doesn’t feel awkward. She feels warm and proud and holds her head a little higher even though the woman in front of her receives the news with something like pity in her hardened eyes.

“Who’re you?” 

People always used to say the  _Brooklyn_  would come out in her voice whenever she feels backed into a corner and gears up to fight her way out, but now it sounds more like  _Litchfield_. 

“I’m the owner of this loft. I’m Nicole’s mother.”

 _Shit_ is written all across Lorna’s face as she tugs the edge of the jersey her parents bought her one Christmas, managing to cover enough of her bare thighs.

“Where is Nicole, if I may ask?”

“She’s, uh, at her NA meeting.”

“NA? Narcotics Anonymous?”

Lorna nods vigorously and feels so proud at the shock on the woman’s face. The click of heels begins again as Ms. Nichols invites herself in and starts snooping around, amazed. Lorna takes the opportunity to slip into the bedroom and pulls on a pair of sweatpants on the floor. She takes a peek in the closest mirror and her hair is ruffled, but her eyeliner isn’t too bad. She draws two red swipes across her lips with a nearby tube of lipstick and walks back out into the living area, nervously picking at her clothes.

“So, was Nicky expecting you?” Lorna asks sweetly. “Because she didn’t mention anything to me. I could’ve been…not here right now.”

Lorna awkwardly sways from side to side while Ms. Nichols remains perfectly still, holding a few of their photographs in her hand. Buster is also still, tense, sitting at Lorna’s feet and refusing to take his one good eye off their guest.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I already checked the kitchen.” The woman with the neat blonde bob doesn’t resemble Nicky in the slightest. She waves her hand in an elegantly dismissively manner, a cold, practiced gesture. “I assure you I have no interest in orange juice from concentrate or Diet Coke. I was surprised to see the organic blueberries and kale though.”

“Oh, our friend is sort of a health nut or actually, total granola, likes to push the stuff on us. Too bad Nicky and I got not clue what to do with lollypop kale—you should’a seen Nick’s face when she first tried to eat that stuff raw—and Food Network ain’t as helpful as you’d think.”

Lorna inches closer and so does Buster. Ms. Nichols doesn’t seem too noticed, busy inspecting a vertical strip of black and white photos they took in an old fashion photo booth the night they introduced Piper to Union Pool with hilarious results. It had been a good night, if not one of the best since Litchfield. Nicky grumbled, but Lorna yanked on her hand anyway, pulling her toward the booth.

In the top picture, Lorna makes the silliest face possible while Nicky is not having it. Piper and Lorna like to gang up on Nicky and tell her she resembles Grumpy Cat. The resemblance is strongest here. In the photo just below, Lorna’s lips are pressed to Nicky’s cheek and Grumpy Cat is gone, replaced with a big, bright smile. In the third, both have their tongues poking out at the corner of their mouths, and a pretty, red kiss imprint on Nicky’s cheek. In the last, they’re lost in a lip lock, Nicky with her arms wrapped around Lorna and Lorna’s hand on her cheek, having forgotten about the camera altogether.

Lorna prepares for some kind of backlash, not knowing how Nicky’s mother is going to react to the photos, not knowing what to expect. She tries to think of her dad seeing it or her brothers and the idea alone is enough to send Lorna running into the darkest, safest corner in her head.

“I’ve never seen Nicole look so happy…” When Ms. Nichols finally looks up at Lorna, she indicates the other photo, the one of Lorna as a child with red-stained lips that Nicky smuggled out of the Morello house. “This you?”

“Yes. Me as a little girl.”

Ms. Nichols starts digging through her purse and pulls out what appears to be an old photo. She holds it out for Lorna to see and there’s a young Nicole Nichols with curls and curls of blonde hair, wearing a white-collar shirt with long sleeves beneath a navy jumper, and not happy about it. Her little cheeks are red with anger, huffing and puffing, yanking at the edge of her jumper.

“That Nicky?”

“The one and only. She’s seven here. There’s nothing the little terror hated more than choir.”

“And you still carry it around with you?”

Lorna suspects her eyes are all big and shiny, aggressively inquiring. Ms. Nichols sinks down onto the edge of the sofa and avoids the question. “How long have you and my daughter been together?”

Something about this woman referring to Nicky in that way, without the Russian accent and the attempt to hide genuine affection, is so wrong. She gives Lorna a pointed look that keeps her on her feet and fidgeting with the strings of her sweatpants that are too large on her and probably Nicky’s.

“Oh, well, we’ve known each other for…” Lorna nervously ticks off her fingers. “Almost five years now, but we weren’t together the whole time…”

“And she bought you that necklace, I assume?”

Lorna touches the gold pendant that she hardly ever takes off. “She did. I told her, I said, Nicky, it’s too much and to take it back, but—”

“No, she’s much too stubborn for that. She isn’t the easiest to love…” Ms. Nichols sighs heavily and pulls her checkbook out of her purse. “How do you spell your name? It’s Lorna, right?”

“Yes, but, uh, what’s that for?”

“The loft is relatively clean. Nicole looks relatively clean and not to mention happy. I haven’t had any calls from hospitals or police departments or desperate pleas for money. I’m thinking you have a great deal to do with that. This is just a little token of my appreciation.”

This is all so new to Lorna. Her head was spinning at the simple idea of meeting Nicky’s mother and what the woman would think of her and say to her. This is something else entirely and all of it feels so wrong.

“I-I’m sorry, but I can’t take your money.”

The woman laughs. “It’s just money.”

 _Just_ money _._ And just like that Lorna’s nervousness turns to anger. She doesn’t come from a world where money is thrown around, where a person is paid to care for another human being, where love is transaction.

“I’ll just make it out to cash,” Ms. Nichols says cheerfully. “And, Lorna, don’t be afraid to walk away. Nicole can be…well, I’m sure you know how she can be. _I_ know alright. Just so we’re clear, I’m not paying you to be with my daughter. Seems like she beat me to that particular punch.”

Ms. Nichols glances up at her, but she isn’t looking at Lorna, she’s looking at the bit of gold around Lorna’s neck.

“I think you should leave,” Lorna says, grinding her teeth. “Before Nicky gets home.”

Ms. Nichols nods to show her agreement, neatly tears the check out of her book and holds it out to Lorna, who looks between the woman and the check like it’s poisonous. Ms. Nichols takes no offense and places the check on the table.

“I just came by to grab some paperwork from the safe and I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait, your picture.” Lorna holds out the old photo of Nicky.

The woman looks at it for a long moment, so full of regret and resignation. There’s so much Lorna wants to tell her in that moment. She wants to tell her about how Nicky would peer through the glass window into Visitation, watching all the other inmates with their loved ones, certain no one would ever come for her. She wants to tell her that a fucking card on Nicky’s birthday would have meant more than she’d ever admit, but no cards ever came. Lorna wants to chew the bitch out, but she knows Nicky and the last thing she’d want is for Lorna to show the enemy her hand.

“You keep it,” Ms. Nichols says. “She’s yours now.”

“But—”

“Lorna, you really do seem like a nice, genuine girl. Just don’t let Nicole drag you down with her for too long. And make no mistake, she will. If not, then she’ll grow bored with you and move on to the next newest form of stimulation. It’s what she does. She has a history, a pattern, highs and lows, and I am tired of trying to break her out of it. I’m done. If I were you, I’d get out sooner rather than later.”

“You’re wrong,” Lorna says, so fully of anger and conviction. “You don’t know her.”

“For your sake, sweetheart, I hope you’re right.”

Lorna doesn't even wait for the woman to leave the loft before she tears the check into pieces. 

 

 

…

 

 

When Nicky gets home later that night, Lorna runs to greet her with a kiss. They stumble backward and almost out through the front door and into the hallway. Nicky catches the doorframe with her hand and shuffles forward with Lorna tight around her, shutting the door after them. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I am here for this,” Nicky says with a chuckle. “But what’s going on, kid?”

“You mean _so much_ to me.”

When she hears those quietly spoken words, Nicky smiles fades into something else, something serious, deeper. Lorna looks up at her, just as serious, but also vulnerable and so exposed. Nicky threads her fingers through Lorna’s hair, cradles her cheek. Lorna’s eyes fall closed and she nuzzles against Nicky’s palm, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

“I just want you to know, Nichols…”

Nicky presses a gentle kiss to her forehead and then a much less chaste kiss to her mouth. They make out against the wall in the foyer and Nicky feels that delightfully surprising spark of excitement when Lorna tugs at Nicky’s dark jeans, popping the brass button free.

“Where the fuck is Buster?” Nicky asks breathlessly. Her forehead creases when her own words register with her and Lorna laughs, pressing her face into the crook of Nicky’s neck.

“I’m tryin’ to be sexy here and you’re thinking about your dog?”

Nicky throws her head back with a laugh and smacks her skull hard against the wall behind her. “Ow, fuck!”

Lorna shakes her head and brings her fingers to the back of Nicky’s head. “Buster’s with Chapman, you klutz. She also took the kale from the fridge when she realized it hadn’t been touched since she put it there a week ago. You better deliver on that logo.”

“Later.” Nicky nestles her mouth just up under Lorna’s ear and whispers, “You mean so much to me too…and I’m gonna show you…”

 

 

…

 

 

Later, when they’re tangled in the sheets, smiling like the idiots they are together, slick with sweat and spent, Lorna traces along a crease in Nicky’s t-shirt with her index finger. “Nick?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…can I see it?”

Nicky tilts her chin, looks at Lorna’s big brown eyes gazing right back. Lorna’s seen _it_ before, many times in fact, but that doesn’t mean Nicky is any less self-conscious about the permanent reminder of her past. Her hesitation is almost enough for Lorna to backpedal and change the subject or suggest getting out of bed and getting some actual food. But then Nicky’s starting to sit up and Lorna gives her enough space to do so. Nicky eases off her shirt, not once tearing her eyes away from Lorna’s. The first thing Lorna does before even looking at the scar is kiss her long and slow.

Lorna can feel the way Nicky tenses, sees how she refuses to look down at her scar. Nicky has had some dark times where she had no one, but herself and that scar. But now Lorna’s here with her, Lorna who fills those dark, empty places, or at least she hopes to. She’s there to keep Nicky’s mind from wandering too far back into the past and she suspects or _hopes_ she can do the same.

“Nicky, you aren’t that person anymore,” Lorna says softly. Nicky remains tense, looking up at the ceiling fan spinning in slow, lazy circles above them. “Nicky, look at me…” Lorna cups Nicky’s cheek and gently leads their eyes back together. “You don’t gotta hide it or anything from me…”

Nicky can’t find the words for once maybe ever, just swallows dryly and nods. Lorna’s eyes are as bright as her smile, full of admiration and love. It’s a look so foreign to Nicky, but so beautiful on Lorna. Nicky starts to relax a little more, sinks a little deeper into the mattress, lazily draws the tips of her fingers up and down Lorna’s spine. Lorna’s lying halfway atop Nicky, tentatively tracing her finger over Nicky’s scar, feeling all the uneven, rough edges.

“Does it hurt?”

“Kid, it’s been, shit, years,” Nicky replies. She reaches out, tucks strands of Lorna’s fluffed dark hair behind her ear, her eye twitching just a little. “Sometimes. When I wake up from a nightmare, I swear to god, I feel it aching like I’m Harry Fucking Potter or some shit. Probably just in my head…”

Lorna doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to joke or tease, just feels out the silence before she kisses her again. Lorna continues to kiss her, lips trailing down Nicky’s jaw and then lower to her neck and even lower to that scar. Light, tender kisses that make Nicky sigh, fitting her hand into the small of Lorna’s back and holding her close. Lorna kisses every inch of that scar and it feels like acceptance, taking in every part of Nicky, even the things she’d rather hide. They’re so close and everything feels so real and Lorna doesn’t think her head has ever been this clear and then the words slip from her mouth.

“I love you…”

Nicky tenses right back up and Lorna has to pull away, has to see her face. There’s doubt in Nicky’s eyes, not that she doubts Lorna’s sincerity, no one can ever doubt Lorna’s sincerity, but with the way her forehead creases and the firm line of her lips, it looks like Nicky doubts she deserves it. It's heartbreaking.

“You just sayin’ that? Because you met my bitch mom and feel sorry for me?”

Lorna shakes her head no and she doesn’t have to say anything because the way Nicky’s face softens says it all. She may not be able to say the words, but her eyes speak volumes. Nicky can’t say it back or anything at all, but she can show it in her own way, in the way she rolls and takes Lorna with her and their mouths come together. She’s alive and clean and they’re both out of prison and they’re together. This is how it’s supposed to end. This is the happily ever after.

Except that there’s a tomorrow and a next day and a next day and they can only pray those will be just as kind as this one.

 

 

…

 

 

 _How’s Lorna?_  

Nicky grins at the text from Franny and she answers right away, happy to report that Lorna’s doing good, better than good even. She’s leaning back against an empty refreshments table covered in cheap plastic at the cheap, community center as other addicts and former junkies clean up and stack chairs after another NA meeting.

"So, are you up for some terribly uneventful sober fun tonight?" Marlena asks. "I need some loud, equally as terrible folk music and dumb, overpriced small plates to drown out all the self-hatred and powder fruit drinks that defined this fine evening so far."

"Nah, not tonight," Nicky replies.

"Come on!" Marlena urges her. "Why don’t you tell your girl to meet up with us? It’s Lorna, right? She isn't what I pictured when you first started raving about her, but she's cute."

Nicky sends off the text to Franny and looks up. "You talked to Lorna? When?" 

"Weeks ago in the laundry room. I embarrassed myself in front of her with my best worst Cobain impersonation. And I see her in passing whenever she's walking your dog-compadre-thing and Josh brings us coffee."

"Who the fuck is Josh?"

Marlena stops herself when she catches the rise in Nicky’s voice, the bit of panic. She sways on the balls of her feet, realizing she probably said the wrong thing and too much of it. 

"Just Josh," Marlena says. "Josh from the building across the street. He has a little rat on a leash too. He's been bringing me coffee for _years_ like a grande caramel macchiato is the key to pussy kingdom. Sometimes I see him with your girl and your dog and his dog when he stops in the lobby to drop off my coffee _and_ you didn't know any of this, did you?"

Nicky feels like everything is crumbling around her, like happiness is just a distraction and everything she knew to be true suddenly isn’t. She can remember one other time where she felt this kind of devastation and it was in the chapel when Lorna told her they had to stop. But this is more. This cuts deeper because they’ve built this life together, because they’re committed. At least, Nicky always felt they were committed even if they never talked about it. Should she really be surprised if this is what she thinks it is? After all, Lorna already did it to her once before.

"You know what?” Nicky sways from side to side, twitches a little, suddenly so restless and needing to come down from it. “I'll take you up on that drink."

"I didn't say anything about drinks."

"Yeah, well, I fucking need a drink,” Nicky snaps. “Either I'm getting it wherever you're headed or the closest bar."

"Hey, this isn't a reason to get wrecked over, especially before you even talk to her about it. Let's just go back to the building and you talk to your girlfriend."

"Don't fucking baby me."

"Well, stop acting like you need fucking babying."

"What are you going to do? Call my sponsor?” Nicky laughs bitterly, walking towards the exit. “News flash, she's in fucking prison and you aren't exactly on her call list."

“At least text your girlfriend and tell her where you are.”

“Hey.” Nicky stops walking, stops moving at all, so uncharacteristically unmoving that it’s a little frightening. Her voice is lower and almost vulnerable when she asks, “This Josh guy, does he wear sweaters?”

 

 

…

 

 

It’s three in the morning and Nicky isn’t home.

Beyond that, Nicky isn’t answering any of Lorna’s texts or calls. She’s already checked with Piper, who hasn’t heard from her. Lorna can’t sleep and paces instead. Buster follows her back and forth for a while, but it goes on and on and he quickly loses interest. Lorna starts to get lost in her head, thinking of different scenarios and scripting what she’s going to say to Nicky when she gets home and she’s really freaking out. The slam of the front door frees her from her thoughts and hits her with a whole other kind of anxiety.  

“Nick! That you?” Lorna walks out into the foyer and sees Nicky stagger about. She holds her hand out, tries to find the wall, but misjudges the space between and stumbles forward. “Are you drunk?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Nicky mumbles, lets her leather jacket hit the ground and struggles to get her boots off. Lorna stares at her hard, more worried than disappointed, but in this state, it’s highly unlikely Nicky can tell.

“You could’a told me,” Lorna says gently. “I could have come to pick you up. You could’a sent me a text at least.”

Nicky leans back against the wall and finally looks at Lorna with her bleary, half-lidded eyes. “There’s a lot we don’t tell each other, yeah?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Who the fuck is Josh?”

Lorna blinks repeatedly. “Who?”

“Don’t fucking play stupid, Morello. The guy!” Nicky shouts, waving her hands about. “The dude! The guy who lives across the fucking street that you’ve been having doggie play dates with. And with my fucking dog too!”

“Are you serious?” Lorna rests her hand on her jutted hip. “The guy with the Chihuahua? I didn’t even know that was his name! I take Buster out and we run into each other sometimes.”

“And what?” Nicky steps forward, nearly tangles her legs and falls down, but catches herself. “You get to talkin’ and go for coffee after? Then what? Practice that downward doggie style, huh?”

“You’re being fucking ridiculous.”

“You wanna fuck that dude?” Nicky almost loses her balance again, but when Lorna reaches out to steady her, Nicky thrashes around and falls back onto the balls of her feet. “You wanna fuck dudes in general?”

“No,” Lorna whispers. “No. Just you, Nichols.”

Nicky stares right at her, so desperately wants to believe her, but almost afraid to. She stumbles back, hits the wall and slowly slides down until she’s sitting there, mascara a mess, and with only one boot on. Lorna takes tiny, uncertain steps toward her and when Nicky doesn’t react, sits with her against the wall in the dark.

“Is that why you went off drinking?” Lorna asks gingerly. “Why didn’t think to talk to me first?”

“Because I’m fucked up.”

The answer is automatic and heavy with honesty. Nicky is her rock and to see her so shaken, Lorna can’t stay angry and can’t stay away. Her hand moves to Nicky’s leg, drawing comforting lines through the skintight denim. 

“We both are,” Lorna assures her, and even attempts a smile. “It just means we gotta talk to each other even more when things like this happen, alright?”

Nicky doesn’t look very reassured, doesn’t even look at her. “Why didn’t you tell me about you runnin’ into Marlena?”

Lorna falters. “I-It didn’t seem important.”

“Just like this Josh guy buying you coffee didn’t feel important?” Nicky narrows her eyes. Even in the dark, Lorna knows it’s more out of fear than anger. “Yeah, well, that shit’s important to me. It goes both ways, Lorna.”

“Okay.” Lorna pulls her knees to her chest and stares at her bare toes wiggling against the cold wooden floorboards. “Did you get high in addition to all the tequila you’re now sweating out?”

“Nope."

“Did you hook up with Marlena?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Fuck her. She thinks I’m too straight for you.”

Nicky laughs and finally looks over at Lorna with such sad eyes. “Would you be mad if I told you I think the same thing sometimes? Not straight per say. Sexuality isn’t all cookie cutters, and you’re into what you’re into, but sometimes…I’ve never done this relationship thing. I never met someone I wanted to do this with before you so I flip out and fuck up. I’m sorry.”

“I meant it when I said I love you,” Lorna says. “I do.”

It isn’t straight-up confirmation or denial or an explanation. It’s a simple truth and that’s all Lorna can give her at the moment and Nicky just nods. Lorna leans up, presses her lips to Nicky’s sweaty forehead and smiles regardless.

“Ay, that’s my move.”

Lorna pushes up onto her feet and holds her hand out to Nicky. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Nicky takes her hand and climbs to her feet.

“Where’s Buster?” Nicky asks drowsily. “Bagel Dog! Mommy and Morello are done fighting! We are, right?”

Lorna pulls Nicky’s arm around her shoulders as they waddle across their dark loft. Buster comes scurrying out from his hiding spot under the couch and follows them back to bed.

 

 

…

 

 

Lorna’s playing Flappy Bird on Nicky’s phone and she’s getting real good at it.

She’s just about to beat Nicky’s high score when the notifications banner pops up and it’s a text message from Franny. Lorna loses her focus as the phone starts shaking in her hand and the pixilated bird nosedives straight into the ground.

 

 

…

 

 

Alex is finally released from Litchfield and Piper, over the moon (in this instance anyway), invites them out and of course the place has a fully stocked bar.

Nicky hesitates, not purely because of the temptation, but because Lorna’s been a little distant lately and a little moody. After all this time, even after that little talk, they’re still total shit at sharing feelings and don’t actually talk about what’s wrong. Nicky doesn’t realize the magnitude of their troubles until they’re walking out the front door and Nicky notices that Lorna isn’t wearing the necklace she gave her.

It cuts deep and Nicky doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to bring it up right before they meet up with their friends. She’s on edge as she drives them through the city, turns up the radio even though she knows Lorna hates it. Lorna doesn’t mention it, doesn’t say anything about anything. Nicky sits behind the wheel, mentally debating which hurts more—a sudden landslide or a slow crumble.

“So, things seem good between you and Lorna,” Alex says. “Really good in fact. Piper said you’re living together?”

She can hear the words and the curious tone, but Nicky’s distracted, fixated on how easy it is for Alex to hang her arm around Piper and how the blonde sits tucked into her big spoon’s side, their fingers laced over Piper’s shoulder. All Nicky can think as she looks at her friends who are disgustingly on the same page (again, right now) is _honeymoon period_.

Alex and Piper are all annoying and gross with their eye sex in public and probably pub bathroom sex by the end of the night, but it’s just a matter of time. Sooner or later one will screw the other over and they’ll continue the vicious cycle they’ve been trapped in for longer than Nicky has known either of them. And now that Nicky does know both of them, she’ll probably get caught in the middle of it all and it gives her a headache just expecting it to happen.

“Earth to Nichols!” Alex reaches across the table, waving her hand in front of Nicky’s face. “Everything alright?”

“Copasetic,” Nicky replies, standing from the table. “Okay, lovebirds, I’m gonna see what’s taking Lorna so long. Feel free to fondle each other under the table in my absence.”

“I’m still waiting on that logo, Nicky!” Piper shouts after her. “I agreed to watch that dog for a weekend and he tore up one of my silk scarf pillows!”

Alex laughs coolly. “A man with a taste for the good life.”

“Hey Chapman, why don’t you tell Vause here about the newest pork chop story?” Nicky suggests. “I’m sure she’ll get a kick out of that one.”

Piper blushes and Alex leans into her with a grin, totally oblivious to the fact that a world outside the two of them exists. Nicky starts toward the restroom and that’s when she sees Lorna at the bar. Her hair is all swept up in an elegant bun and she’s wearing a fantastic dress. She looks beautiful, tilting her head back with a laugh. Then a group in front of her shifts and Nicky sees the man on the barstool over, making her laugh. He’s tall and handsome with dark hair and a vest, like someone plucked straight out of the pages of a magazine. 

Nicky walks over, leans against the bar just behind Lorna and draws the attention of the bartender. “Bourbon!” Nicky shouts, pointing to Vest Guy. “On this asshole’s tab!”

Vest Guy pushes through his confusion and narrows his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“What are you doing?” Lorna spins in her chair so she’s facing Nicky. She leans across the bar and waves off the bartender just as he grabs a glass. “Sorry, sir! Cancel that! She’s strictly water or Diet Coke only.”

Nicky slams a fist against the bar, startling Vest Guy and leaving the bartender apprehensive. Lorna just frowns and reaches out for Nicky, but she just turns away and shoves her way out of the hot, crowded room. Lorna doesn’t send Vest Guy a parting glance, even when he shouts after her. She rushes after Nicky out the door and onto the street.

“What the fuck, Nichols?”

“Who was the guy, huh?” Nicky asks frantically. “Christopher?”

“He looked nothing like—”

“That’s not what I meant, Lorna.”

Nicky stops her agitated, angry steps and turns to face her. They’re on a dark street corner in the middle of the night, blocking the sidewalk and staring at each other. Lorna's afraid that if she tries to move closer, Nicky will move further away. On the contrary, Nicky’s afraid that if Lorna moves closer, she’ll give in like she does every goddamn time.

“We were just talkin’,” Lorna says softly. "Sometimes it's nice to talk to people who don't know you."

“Strangers that remind you of Christopher? What, was it the fucking wool sweater?”

“This isn’t about him!”

“Then what? Just guys?” Nicky is usually such a verbal person like she has a compulsion so say shit and aggressively so, but she doesn’t go on like she could. She just buries her fingers into her hair, tugging hard, needing to feel something other than their loving, stable life falling apart.

“I-I don’t know…I do know I love you, but…that ain’t enough, is it?”

“I want it to be.” Nicky’s voice breaks. “Why aren’t you wearing your necklace?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you and my sister have been texting back and forth?”

Nicky’s head is still a frantic mess, but this makes her heart sink. How betrayed Lorna looks has her shoulders dropping, fists uncurling, face falling neutral.

“You had no right.”

“She’s worried about you!” Nicky shouts. “Did you read everything? I never told her anything beyond the fact that you were okay whenever she’d ask. You have people who care about you, Lorna. Franny could just wash her hands of you and be done, but no, she keeps reaching out, waiting for you to reach back.”

Nicky takes a deep breath after saying all that. She’s wanted to say all of that for weeks, since she had that talk with Franny on the stoop. Now it’s all out there. No more ignoring the elephant in the room and glossing over it.

“So you were flirting with that guy back there because you were pissed at me for talking to Franny?” Nicky swallows hard, but the lump that’s formed in her throat refuses to dissipate. “It was passive aggression not attraction?”

Lorna stares up at a streetlight on the fritz above them. “I’m sorry. I was just…so angry and…it’s just my head sometimes…” Lorna's eyes are shining, but this time it’s with fear. “I love you. _So much_. And I wanna promise you so many things, but my head…I can’t…”

Lorna doesn’t even defend herself. This situation, _their relationship_ , is so tumultuous. One night they’re saying things to each other beneath the comfort of the night, open and stripped down in every way. Tonight there’s something between them, something keeping them at a distance, something that has them standing on a dark street in a giant city, together, but at the same time not.

Nicky tries to hide how scared and hurt she is, but can tell Lorna knows with how soft and quiet she’s become. Lorna does things, erratic things, things no amount of apologizes or kisses to scars is going to fix. Nicky also does things, reckless things fueled by impulse or pain. They’re both quiet because they both know yelling or slinging accusations won't help. They’re both quiet because they’re both self-aware of their own destructivity and how easy it is for them to relapse in their own uniquely terrifying ways.

“Is it going to happen again?” Nicky asks. “Not just what happened tonight, but everything that happened before?”

“Christopher all over again?”

Lorna doesn’t know how to answer her own question. She can’t answer because she doesn’t know. They’ve both been sitting on this for a while, long before either of them left Litchfield. It’s just now that they’re out, that they’ve played house, there’s no other option but to confront all of it in one go.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Nichols…”

“Fucking Forget me, kid. I don’t want you hurting yourself.” Nicky tears her eyes away from Lorna and looks away, debating, and then finally thinking, to fuck with it. “If someone else would make you happier, if someone more stable could make you feel more stable—”

“ _No_.”

“—then cool. I just don’t want you to get in trouble again and for history to fucking repeat itself.”

“But it feels like we’re heading that way, don’t it?”

“Little things…make me worry, but it doesn’t mean I’m about to give up on you.” Nicky closes the space between them and pulls Lorna into a hug. The contact, which feels like the first time they’ve touched in days, makes Nicky realize that if it ever comes to letting each other go it isn’t going to be as easy as she made it seem. “Fuck it. Let’s go home.”

“Nicky, this doesn’t fix anything…” 

“I don’t think one conversation is going to do that, not tonight, not out here.” 

Lorna fumbles, lip quivering, hard stare set on Nicky. “You mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you,” Nicky assures her, twisting her dark hair around her fingers. Then in a smaller voice that’s barely there, she adds, “Just scared.”

“Of me?”

“ _For_ you. And me. And us.”

They silently agree not to say any more. The last thing they want to do on top of making each other worry is lie. They don’t even bother telling Piper and Alex that they’re leaving. Nicky just wraps her arm around Lorna, who leans into her and they start the long, cold walk home.

 

 

…

 

 

There are two things Lorna is certain of.

One: everything looks different in the daylight

She sits on the far side of the bed with her knees drawn to her chest, watching as Nicky sleeps with her mouth wide open and Buster nestled in her hair. Light filters in through the spaces between the blinds, making everything look so different from the night before. The darkness seemed endless and the space between Nicky and her felt like an ocean rather than inches.

Everything should be clearer in the light, but it isn’t. Lorna wants to think Nicky would be better off without her, but she doesn’t know what’s right for herself, let alone Nicky. Though they didn’t walk out on each other, nothing feels resolved and Lorna doesn’t even know where to begin.

Two: the other thing she’s certain of is that she needs to get out

Lorna’s as quiet as she can possibly be, slipping out of bed and getting dressed. She leaves Nicky a little note on the bathroom mirror:

 

 _I’ll be back_ _xo L_

 

She pulls on her white acrylic knit beanie with the Jets logo embroidered on the green trim and green pom pom on the very top when Buster starts trotting after her, nails clicking against the floor, yapping at her. Lorna presses her finger to her lips and shushes the little dog that sits at her feet, wagging his tail excitedly.

“What’s a matter with you?” Lorna whispers. “You tryin’a wake Nicky up? You of everyone should know she ain’t a morning person in the slightest.”

Buster stares up at Lorna with his head tilted, continuing to wag his tail at an accelerated rate, undeterred. He walks ahead of her to the door and starts scratching at the bottom. Seems he’s just as eager to get out as she is. Lorna reaches for the leash on the nearby coat rack and clips it to his little collar before opening the door.

Lorna hails a cab and is surprised when one actually pulls over. A small smile pulls at her red lips when she sees the dashboard covered in Jets merch. She yanks the door open and ducks, looking over at the short, pudgy Italian man in the front seat.

“Hi! I’m Lorna. This is Buster. He good to go?”

“After the shit season our boys had, anything for fellow fans!” the man replies with a thick accent that reminds Lorna of growing up in Brooklyn and getting yelled at by neighbors when her brothers and sister would cause a racket. “But, ay, these are brand new mats and if the little guy has any sorta accident, it’s gonna cost you extra.”

As the cabdriver dives into stories of the good ol’ days (back in 1968, the last and only time the Jets won a Super Bowl) Lorna smiles, nods along and reacts appropriately. She can’t help, but mentions how love for the Jets runs deep in her family, how they have photos of her as a child, wearing green, sitting on her father’s shoulders, tailgating in the parking lot of the stadium. Lorna’s actually glad for the conversation. It keeps her from getting lost in her thoughts.

Once they arrive, Lorna tries to tip a little extra, but the cabdriver refuses, even gives Buster a pat on the head before he drives off. With Buster at her side, Lorna starts toward the well-manicured lawns and large trees with low hanging branches. She weaves between gravestones and plots, looking for a certain marker with _Morello_ etched in. Before she can even find it, she sees Franny sitting out in front of one. Lorna stops a fair distance away, takes a deep breath and approaches her sister. Buster doesn’t share Lorna’s hesitancy and runs right up to Franny, greeting her with his tongue against her cheek.

“Yuck!” Franny shouts, arms flailing. “Lorna, your fucking dog!” Lorna tugs Buster away while Franny wipes her cheek with the sleeve of her sweater. Once the disgust fades, Franny blinks up at Lorna. “You and Nicky got a dog together?”

“His name’s Buster and Nicky got him before I got out.” Lorna huffs irritably. “You don’t gotta pretend to care.” 

“My baby sister’s shacked up with ‘er so of course I care.”

“And you’ve been texting back and forth for how long now?”

“What? You wouldn’t talk to me. How else am I supposed to check up on you, huh? We’re family. Who was sitting behind you in that courtroom? Who sent you your stupid Twilight books and drove upstate just to see your skinny ass, huh?”

Lorna doesn’t answer, doesn’t have to. She sinks down to her knees with her eyes on the bronze grave marker, taking in every inch of it from the name and date, every engraved number and letter and the little cross to the side. Her hand trembles as Lorna brings the tip of her index finger to the cold bronze, tracing the cross over and over again.

“She had a thing for crosses, huh?” Lorna says.

“You kidding? Every Christmas our tree had more crosses on it than pine needles.”

Lorna smiles and when she turns to her sister, something in Franny’s tired face softens, touched by how young Lorna looks. But then it all fades when Lorna turns her eyes back to the plaque.

“You mean every Christmas before she got sick…”

“Then everything went to shit, didn’t it?” Franny laughs bitingly. “We lived the best we could. We’re still just trying to live the best we can.”

Lorna sits back so she’s at Franny’s side and collects Buster in her arms, letting him curl up in her lap as she ducks her head closer and runs her fingers through his fur.

“I’m no good, Franny.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Everything is just…” Lorna huffs again. She’s frustrated, mostly with herself. “I thought I’d get out and everything would be better, you know? I’d have you and Nicky and this little guy. I thought I’d figure it out, but I got no clue what I’m doin’. I don’t know what I’m gonna do for money or how to answer when someone asks if I’m gay or straight or…what the fuck is wrong with me because there is, Fran…something wrong with me…” 

Franny licks her lips and shifts closer to rest her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Work will come once you sort yourself out. I’m working two jobs and pops has got his pension so we get by. That second question’s easy. You’re a Nicholsexual and it ain’t anyone’s goddamn business anyway.”

Lorna laughs and squints her teary eyes at her sister. “Did you just make a funny, Franny? I haven’t heard you tell a joke since…ever.”

"Who says I'm joking?" Franny thumps Lorna hard on the arm. “There ain’t no rush, you know? You thought you had time when you were locked up? Well, you got even more time out here. You got your whole life…you don’t have to come home if you don’t want to, but we’re gonna set you up with someone to talk, yeah?”

Lorna nods and covers Franny’s hand with hers, giving it a firm squeeze.

“And Nicky isn’t paying for a cent of it,” Franny says strongly. “My baby sister ain’t a fucking Kanye song. I smacked the shit outta Mikey for that after you left.”

Lorna smiles and leans into her big sister. “Sometimes I worry about Nicky, about ruining her life like I did with…”

“She’s a keeper, Lorn,” Franny says. “She got through a family dinner and put up with me texting her at all hours. She passed the Morello family test. _No one_ has passes the Morello family test. Of course a lesbian ex-junkie from SoHo does.”

“And you don’t think I’m lesbo brainwashed?”

“I think you’re gonna live your life no matter what I think, no matter what pops or the guys or the whole Christian community thinks. Good on you, Small Fry.”

 

 

…

 

 

Nicky should probably be working on possible designs for Piper’s logo, but the lines on the paper are so obviously taking the shape of Lorna from the slight curls in her dark hair to the damn irresistible pout on her red lips. Nicky likes doing caricatures and cartoons most, but with this one and the shading, it’s looking more and more realistic by the second. She hasn’t gotten to the eyes yet and it mostly feels like she’s stalling.

Waking up with no Lorna and no Buster on the other side of the bed almost gave Nicky a heart attack. She leapt out of bed and ran around checking every room. She felt stupid when she walked into the bathroom last and saw the note. It would have been nice if she mentioned Buster, but after last night, Lorna was probably itching to get away. 

Like many things in her life, Nicky regrets the way she jumped to conclusions and caused a scene. A lot of the time she doesn't know how to act. She's never been in a committed relationship before, let alone with a girl who has a complicated history of loving men who only love her back in her head. It's so heavy. Nicky is aware and maybe if it were someone else she would have walked away a long time ago, but it's Lorna. Nicky might not be able to say the words, but the fact that she’s in love with Lorna Morello is one of the few things Nicky knows to be absolutely true about herself. She’s known for years now.

"Nick, you here? We're home!"

She was so absorbed in her thoughts and her drawing that she didn't even hear the front door. When Lorna walks in, looking almost shy, Nicky’s sitting on the floor with papers spilled out across the coffee table in front of her. Lorna unhooks Buster from the leash and he goes running up to Nicky, jumps up onto the coffee table, stepping all over the paper, sending pencils rolling off the edge of the table.

"Easy," Nicky coos, rubbing Buster’s floppy little ears. "You need to chill. I don't see Aunt Piper buying the my dog tap danced on my homework excuse." Nicky glances up at Lorna, who's wearing her favorite Jets beanie and a knit scarf along with her puffy parka. It all makes her look tinier and younger than usual. "Where'd you two take off to so early?"

"The Evergreens Cemetery. I took him to visit my ma."

"You got to meet Mama Morello before me? Lucky dog." Nicky scoops Buster up with one hand and sets him on the ground before turning her attention to Lorna yet again. "You okay?"

Lorna nods slowly, not as frantic or forced as she would when trying too hard to be convincing. "Yeah, I think I'll be. Franny met us there." 

Nicky's ears perk up, just not as animated as Buster’s. She moves up off the Persian rug and sits next to Lorna on the sofa. "This is good news, right?" 

"Yeah, the best in a while, I think. I...I talked to Franny and everything is close to good again. I-I think it's time to talk to someone, someone who might know why I…why I am the way I am…”

Nicky sees the way she's struggling just to get the words out and instinctively takes Lorna's hand into hers. "There's no rush, y'know."

Lorna shakes her head defiantly. "Yes, yes, there is. We both know how I can be and the last thing I want is to hurt you, Nicky."

"Look, Lorna—"

" _Don't_ , Nichols. I'm doing this me and for you and I'm doing it for _us_ and everyone who bothers with me."

Nicky nods. "Okay."

"And I think I should move back into my family's house just for now. They're shuffling the kids around so I'll get my old room back and all to myself. Maybe living with them would make things easier, reconnecting and all that." 

"Okay."

"And I'm giving you an out," Lorna says. And that's the one that strikes Nicky like a punch in the face. "You didn't ask for any of this, everything I put you through. You don't have to no more. I won't blame you for not wanting to put up with me. Go live your life, be with someone better for you." 

"What makes you think I'd want that?"

"Do you remember last night? You think that’ll be the last time? You shouldn't want that or me."

"I do." Nicky sits a little taller and holds Lorna’s hand a little tighter, a little closer. "Just you. All of you. Good and bad. As long as you still want me…" 

Lorna lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief. "Is that even a question?"

"Do _you_ remember last night?"

“Last night is why I’m sayin’ this, Nicky,” Lorna says, and it takes so much for her to even do this. “I know it ain’t easy for you, dealing with me. I make everything so much harder for you.”

“Yeah, well, I hear it’s like that. Love. I hear it isn’t easy and I guess I know firsthand now, huh?”

Nicky feels like she’s on the very edge of saying those three little words, a sentiment that’s been in the way she looks at Lorna for almost as long as they’ve known each other. She’s just not there yet so instead she just brushes Lorna’s bangs to the side and presses her lips to her forehead.

“Now that we've established that neither of us is going anywhere,” Nicky mutters, “I haven’t had breakfast yet and I hear make-up sex is a fantastic thing coupled do these days. I’m gonna bring the Cool Whip then I want you to strip…also, a Kanye song.” 

“Oh, I would'a never guessed.” Lorna laughs, pressing her forehead to Nicky’s. “As fantastic as that sounds, Kanye suggestion and all, Franny is waiting downstairs. She wants to take us to breakfast before she has to get to work. So put some pants on, Nichols.” 

Nicky groans reluctantly, but Lorna pays her no attention, more interested in Nicky’s drawing. Lorna leans forward and takes in every detail, every stroke of the pencil. The eyes are so very soft, so very kind.  

“This is how you see me?”

“What? Fuckin’ hot. Of course.”

Lorna cups Nicky’s face with both her hands, squishing her cheeks together as she presses her lips to her Nicky’s nose, sure to leave a smudge of lipstick behind. “Shouldn’t you be working on Chapman’s logo thing?”

“Eh, I’ll figure it out eventually.”

Lorna playfully slaps Nicky’s bare thigh. “Alright, pants on right now! I wanna have breakfast with my sister and my girlfriend.”

Nicky’s lips pull to one side and then the other when she hears Lorna use that word _girlfriend_ and without stuttering once. Her stomach does one of those annoying somersault _things_ that make her want to do the exact opposite of get up and put more clothes on. Before Nicky can make another play for make-up sex, Buster barks and jumps up onto the couch, walking across Lorna’s lap and trying to burrow between them.

“You mean breakfast with your sister, your girlfriend _and our mutt_ ,” Nicky adds.

Lorna nods. “And _our_ mutt.”  

With a loud, gurgling groan, Nicky finally gets up and throws on a pair of jeans that she found on the floor. After piling on mascara and thinking about trying to tame her hair, but ultimately doing nothing, Nicky walks out to the foyer and sees Lorna holding Buster and staring up at her West Side Story poster framed and hanging on the wall. To the left is Lorna’s baby picture and to the right is Nicky’s, also framed.

Nicky clears her throat and walks closer, twisting Buster’s leash around her hand. “What can I say? I had a productive morning. If you want to bring it back to your family’s house—”

“No, it looks good.” Lorna holds out her hand and her little gold necklace is in her palm. “A little help here?”

Nicky steps up behind Lorna, brushes aside the baby hairs at the back of her neck and secures the necklace. She’s sure to press a kiss to Lorna’s shoulder before straightening that ridiculous beanie with the ridiculous pom pom atop her head. Lorna presses back against her, wriggling a little, making Nicky grin.  

“Are we a fucking hot family or what?” Nicky asks.

Lorna smiles up at Nicky and that’s all the answer she needs.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: Remember when I wrote that terribly dark story and apologized profusely for it? So how did I end up taking on the role of Nicky/Lorna fluff provider? I have no idea either. 
> 
> Fun Fact: So many direct and indirect Kanye references. If you didn't already know, I love me some Ye.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to prompts, but like with Red's menu when she ran shit, I'll do as I please and make no promises.


End file.
